My Life

    It's that familiar sound again. Ding. I glance at the board. Three is
  lit up, again. That's the fifth time today, and it's not even lunch
  break yet. I call it in to the floor. On the other end of the line,
  I can hear the steady grinding and clanking in the background. "Got
  it," she says. As she is hanging up, I hear her already giving
  directions. Her voice rings out in the steady monotone that all the
  operators have. The office shakes and rattles as the workers below go
  through their almost machine-like routine.
    I had taken a trip down there when I was first hired. The foreman
  proudly showed me around the floor, rattling off the statistics. I heard
  the Ding, for the first time, there. The workers stopped what they
  were doing and, as one, turned to look at the operator. She gave out
  instructions in that secret language, only known to the workers. They
  then resumed what they had been working on. I didn't notice any
  perceptible difference in their activities, but I assumed it was there.
    The Ding wakes me out of my memories. There it is again. Ding. Ding. I
  look at the board. Three is still lit up. Ding. Ding. Now Eight
  lights up. Ding. Nine. It must be break for them. I call them into
  the operator. Slowly the rush dies down. Finally, it is time to go
  home. There it is, that familiar sound. Ding. This last call, and I
  can finally leave my post inside the elevator call box.