I hate the freight elevator. It's one of four in our office building. From the outside, all four look alike. Smooth, sleek, with brushed metal and some kind of light wood. Golden oak? Heck, I don't know. The only wood I know for sure is pine and it's not pine.

Classy anyway, like the lobby with its one-and-a-half story contemporary fountain. The fountain is really just three steel cylinders. Water doesn't cascade or splash or laugh in this fountain. It just sort of slicks down the outside of the tubes.

All very sophisticated, you see. The building was constructed when times were good and it reflects robust economic health. Once it was full of businesses, with a swanky top-floor penthouse apartment.

Now it's just us, our two separate divisions on two separate floors, and perhaps a few other businesses scattered here and there among the other 11 floors. I really don't know for sure. I've never ventured outside the world of Floor 6, my division, and 4 - snack machine.

I'm told the penthouse is now nothing but office space, no longer the least bit impressive. But someday, I'm going to press the big black P in the elevator and go see for myself. What's silly is I'm saving this adventure for some time down the road, like a treat.

But back to the elevators. Three of them are just as stylish inside as out.

The fourth is the freight elevator. First off, it's drafty, no doubt from numerous excursions to the basement, another floor of which I have no knowledge. It also has 8-foot-tall dark green pads attached to its walls, covering the brushed metal and pretty, undetermined wood. Finally, the sea foam green carpet is invisible under a layer of cardboard. The cardboard is dirty, covered in scuffs of dirt and something that looks like chalk.

It's not pretty, like the other elevators. And it's certainly not appropriate for white-collar types. Heels and ties deserve better quarters, even for the 10 seconds or so it takes to ride from ground floor to 6.

I've tried to ignore it, to outsmart the thing. Waiting for the doors to close, then hitting the button again, hoping another elevator will come to my aid. But no, the freight elevator remains ready to serve. Trying again not for mere seconds, but for more than a minute before hitting the up button and waiting with bated breath.

The freight elevator yawns open. Like welcoming arms, its doors stretch wide, graciously inviting me into its ugliness. I turn up my nose.

I've even thought of taking the stairs to avoid the thing. But I can't quite go that far. Particularly in heels.

Eventually, I step in and hope for no fellow riders who might crowd me to the edge and force me to brush against the walls. Eew.

These are the tiny quandaries and mini-events that I'm pretty sure run through all our heads all day long. Petty and amusing, a few seconds worth of seemingly senseless thought and debate. Therefore, these musings probably read like a rant, a bitch about nothing, perhaps an example of a negative thought pattern.

But I beg to differ. Because the small annoyance of the freight elevator leaves me open to a fleeting bit of happiness. On some days, even most days, the freight elevator is otherwise occupied - no doubt hauling cattle or something equally disgusting. When I hit the call button, the doors of one of those three handsome elevators slide apart for me.

And at this, I am almost ashamed to say, I feel an absurd jolt of white-collar joy.