It mocks me. Here I stand, paralyzed, unable to push. The button brings me to the lobby, and out the lobby doors... So I cannot push the button. However, clearly I must push it. I can hardly stand in the elevator forever, at most a few days, after all, I would dehydrate and die. So, I must push the button. Yet, I don't. Indecision has clamped my body in irons. "DOWN" it says, and indeed, where I would go after pushing the button is down. I have always been unable to decide, in fact, 'indecision' is a word that one could use to describe my entire life. This is why the wedding fell apart, as I, unable to decide on, for instance, THE LINENS, was constantly inserting delays into the wedding-planning process. This was only a symptom of my wedding disease, a disease which infected me when the prospect of indefinite commitment first infected me. "You're such a coward," she said, I think, as I look at the button, and walked out the door. "You're so afraid of committing to anything, you're terrified of anything resembling risk," she said, and left. This is why I am unable to push the button. Then, like now, I had to commit, had to push, but now, like then, I am unable to. I stand, pondering the "DOWN," the braille, when a man walks in, and pushes it for me.