My Aunt Anna Took Me to New York and Gave Me My First Ride on an Escalator in Macy S When

Escalators

My aunt Anna took me to New York and gave me my first ride on an escalator in Macy’s when I was six years old. I’ll never forget it.

There’s something magic about an escalator. The idea of stairs that move up or down, carrying anyone standing on them, and then, folding into the floor when they get to the top or the bottom is one of the craziest, most original work-saving inventions of all time. What brilliant nut thought of that?

We all love anything free and escalators seem like a free ride. They don’t move as fast as elevators but you don’t have to wait for an escalator to come, either.

The classic stance going up is to put one foot on the next step. It’s comfortable and it leaves the rider ready to get off. And there are all kinds of variations to that.

Conservative riders grip the moving rails for safety even though it’s not a dangerous ride. Coming down, some people hold both rails…like standing on a diving board ready to jump.

Those who use escalators all the time are casual on them. They ride easily. It’s a piece of cake…or a cup of coffee. Some riders are impatient with the slow rumbling pace of the staircase. They double the speed by walking…or triple it by running.

On crowded escalators the riders trying to get somewhere in a hurry make their way past the tourists.

Kids never cease to be fascinated by these steps that move. If they had their choice in a store, they wouldn’t do anything but ride the escalators up and down all day long. They’re always fooling around on them. They love running up the down staircase.

Escalators keep doing their thing relentlessly whether they’re crowded or empty.

For some riders an escalator provides a brief interlude for quiet looking around…a miniature plane ride…a pause in the day’s occupation. The world around them is a moving picture and their tangential不相干的movement provides them a second dimension within it.

Aunt Anna’s gone now. She was awfully good to me. She’d be pleased I think of her every time I ride on an escalator.

From Andy Rooney, Years of Minutes, pp. 113-114.