Elevators

At the Mall of America, I have to scale a set of stairs to reach the mall entrance from the parking ramp. If I'm alone with Lyla and her stroller, I heave it all up those stairs while taking care not to dump her out. The alternative is an elevator that is slow, dirty, and outside.

Inside the mall, I've discovered elevators off the beaten track. The Gap has one between floors one and two, Macy's has a nice one, and there's the freight elevator next to the east exits. The main elevators I avoid at all costs because inevitably I run into the laziest people in America.

I'm not talking about people with strollers of their own; I'm not talking about the elderly or the physically disabled. I'm talking about the people who stand in packs with their extra-large Orange Juliuses and their giant crepe stand desserts and wait for the magic box to haul them up to the food court. Never mind that there are escalators 50 yards away. If they can get there by simply pushing a button, they'll do so oblivious of the guy with the stroller who won't fit in there with them.

It's always tempting to bring the stroller up the escalator. In addition to signs prohibiting the practice, our stroller is a three-wheeler and would be difficult to balance on those moving stairs. If we're headed up and I lose grip, and everything tumbles downward at the same rate the escalator ascends, then Lyla could fall forever--an intriguing concept but not a happy one.

The whole dilemma is merely inconvenient, but it's made me realize something. If I ever find myself in a wheelchair, I will be absolutely belligerent on a daily basis.