Another evening at the hotel. As usual, you receive a key at the reception and walk along a corridor with surroundings twice your age. The design, like the hotel itself, is a couple of generations behind modernity, so you are no longer surprised by the mechanical elevator. By pressing the button you hear this grinding of gears and cables. But then the treasured “ding” sounds and the doors suddenly open in front of you.

Which floor would you like to go to, my dear?

The elevator operator is skittishly interested, trying to convey his superiority with his grin.