What’s wrong with this picture? By itself, nothing. It depicts a simple elevator with 3 floor buttons—1, 2, 3. The elevator in question doesn’t even have additional both “L” and “G” buttons, which routinely confound my efforts to get out of buildings. The problem only becomes apparent when you understand that on Friday I had a meeting scheduled in the building this elevator serves … in room 410.
I have spent a great deal of my life since the age of 18 navigating my way through University buildings. I have attended and/or worked at four of our nation’s institutions of higher learning. One of the things I appreciate about life on a campus is the aesthetic diversity that arises from the variety of architecture styles typically present at a University. Campus buildings I’ve worked in have ranged in style from classical to modern to postmodern. I’ve co-existed with giant cockroaches in dilapidated former hotels, and I’ve basked in gorgeous views from the gleaming picture windows of brand new state-of-the-art facilities. I currently work in the dark basement of a 1950’s era bunker-like structure while, across the street, a 5-year old, multi-million-dollar giant affords its inhabitants views of the Cascades and an awe-inspiring wide-open central atrium.
All University buildings I’ve worked, learned, or slept in, however, share a common factor: their floor plans make absolutely no fucking sense!
My very first University class was held in the “Old Main” building on the Wayne State University campus in Detroit. Being new, I hadn’t yet learned to allow myself an additional 90 minutes to find a parking space before class, so I was running late. My class was in room 317. I dashed up the main steps of the building, ran up two flights of stairs, and hustled down what appeared to be the only corridor on the 3rd floor. I glanced to my right and spied room 302. Ah, I thought. 317 should be down the hall on the left. I looked to my left—304. What the…? Right, 306; left, 308. I walked faster and faster becoming increasingly frantic and questioning my very sanity. The hallway ended; room 316 sat to my left and 318 on my right. I awaited my visit from Rod Serling.
I retraced my steps, hoping to encounter a directory or map or something. There was nothing on the 3rd floor, or the 2nd. Even the main floor held no clue. By this time, the early September heat was getting to me, and my body was drenched in sweat. My freshman anxiety also took hold—how could I expect to do well in college if I can’t even find the classrooms?
A passer-by noted my confusion and asked if she could help. I explained my predicament; she smiled knowingly. “It’s a common problem,” she said. “The odd numbered rooms are on the north side of the building, which you can only get to from the main floor. Just take that other staircase.” She indicated a matching set of steps ascending in the direction opposite from the set I had taken. I ended up 30 minutes late for my first college class.
During my career since then, I have encountered countless such mystifying room arrangements and inexplicable layouts. For example, the main section of the Law Building at Wisconsin has no 4th floor. It’s main level is the 3rd floor. The entrance to the Library is on the 5th floor, and it does have a 4th floor, but you can’t get to it from within the Library. To get to the 1st floor, you have to go outside and come in again, unless you use the elevator from the 4th floor (which, remember, only exists in part of the building). I was facilities manager of this monstrosity for two years, and it utterly defeated me.
The Law Building has two excuses for being as fucked up as it is. First, it was originally two buildings (with different floor heights) that were merged during a renovation. Second, it’s on a steep hill. The staff who were involved with the renovation can justify every last idiosyncrasy about the numbering and the layout, but to newcomers, it’s confounding.
The building I got lost in on Friday, however, has no such excuses. It is a new building built on flat ground. I had to get out on the 3rd floor (I had no choice), go to the other end of the building, go up a flight of stairs to the 4th floor, and then walk back to the original side of the building. The only reasons I can think of is that they either ran out of money before the project was completed, or the chief architect was M. C. Escher.
