The elevator in the JFSB opened within 30 seconds of having pushed the button (which never happens, as you English-Languagey people might note, but that is not what really happened). I got on the elevator with a friend of mine, and we were busily discussing our futures that hung in the balance while the English Teaching department was close to announcing whether or not we’d be getting internships.

A man entered the elevator. A kindly man with a warm smile, approachable wrinkles and a plateau of nicely white hair. Also, where a right arm usually hangs, he had a silver hook—a real one, with a little clampy thingy that surely helped him be… dextrous (not a real word, but you know what I mean). But the armlessness seemed almost an afterthought next to his pleasant grin, and I merely pressed the 4 button and watched the door close.

That was when we heard the slightly exasperated gasp of two people on the other side of the elevator, who were trying to beat the doors before they closed them out and sentenced them to the stairs. I, being near the button station, clicked the open door symbol before the elevator began to lift, and the doors opened again with little hesitation.

“Oh! Thank you so much!” said the man, clambering onto the lift and into the back, “I was going to try and stop it myself, but I really didn’t want to lose an arm or something.”

The man with the hook just grinned privately to himself, and made no attempt to cover his missing appendage.