“Hey doc,” the police officer greeted. “I remember you. How you doing?”

“I’m alright, how about you?” I answered. He saw me push the button on the panel to call an elevator heading down. I wondered how he knew I was a doctor. It was the end of the work day and I had already bundled up in my long winter coat and scarf. I did not recognize him.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he said. He gestured to the other side of the building and asked, “You’re not working over there today?”

“Oh, I never work over there,” I said. He was referring to the psychiatric units. “I run around the hospital and work as a psychiatrist on the medical and surgical floors.”

“Ooooh, I see,” he answered. The elevator chimed its arrival. I wondered if he had seen me during a “psychiatric code” in the hospital. (A “psychiatric code” is when someone—it need not be a patient—is severely behaviorally agitated in the hospital.) I didn’t know how else our paths could have crossed.

I should pay more attention to who is present during those things.

I thought I heard him say, “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yes,” I answered, stepping into the elevator. He fished out a single silver key on the large hoop of keys that dangled from his belt loop.

“Okay,” he said, inserting the key into a slot on the elevator panel. “We’ll get you home as soon as possible.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, suddenly aware of what he was doing. “I thought you asked, ‘Are you ready to go home’, not ‘Are you in a rush to go home’! I’m not in a rush, it’s okay, really.”

“No no no,” he said. The elevator doors were closing and he turned the key in the slot. “We’ll skip all the floors and I’ll backtrack upstairs after we get you to the ground floor.”

“No, really, it’s okay,” I insisted. “I’m really not in a rush.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he continued. The elevator began its descent. I caught sight of the panel atop the elevator doors and saw the numbers rapidly change as we passed each floor. People were waiting on the other side of the doors and this elevator was ignoring their requests for a stop.

I stifled a sigh.

“You see, this way you don’t have to stop at every single floor on the way down,” he said.

“But that’s okay,” I said, realizing that my protests were now in vain. “I don’t mind.” We’re all just trying to get home.

His ring of keys dangled from the elevator panel. The elevator continued its uninterrupted descent.

“That’s a valuable key you have there,” I said feebly. “You’ve got a lot of power with that thing.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of power as a doctor.”

I said nothing. My lips smiled. My eyes didn’t.

The elevator smoothly halted at the ground floor and the doors slid open.

“Thank you,” I quietly said, hurrying out. I hoped my voice did not betray my discomfort.

“No problem,” the police officer called from the elevator. “Have a good night.”