The first time I called into an elevator, I picked up my iPhone and dialed the number—labelled on my list as the Crown Plaza Hotel in Chicago—and immediately heard two beeps, then a recording of a woman's voice, who told me to press one to talk. When I did, I was suddenly in aural space filled with the hum of motors and the muffled twanging of steel cables under tension. "Hello, can anyone hear me?" I asked the void. The void did not respond.
I hung up and tried another number on my list: A Hilton hotel in Grand Rapids, Michigan. After just one ring I heard a series of four tones and was immediately listening to the inside of another elevator. I heard a chime, perhaps a signal that it had reached a floor, followed by the rumble of what might have been a door opening. "Hi, is anyone in here?" I asked. This time I heard a few muffled voices, then a woman answered: "There are people in here, yes."
Sounding a little more excited than I intended, I asked if anyone was in an emergency situation, a strange question I felt compelled to lead with, to make sure I wasn't tying up the elevator's phone line when the occupants might need it. I got no answer except what sounded like the rumble of the door opening and closing again.
So I stayed on the line. A few seconds later, the elevator chimed, and I heard the noises of new people entering. I greeted them as I had the first passengers, but they didn't seem to hear me even after several attempts. "Turn it over," I heard a woman's voice say in a Midwestern accent. "The lady at the desk ..
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