THE WRONG FLOOR

‘Is it doing that with you?’ he said, looking up from stroking the puppy he’d first called into the lift, then retrieved after it'd run out and when she said, ‘Pick it up, why don’t you?’ irritable and practical like a mother would be to his fumbling dad.
‘Yeh, is,’ I said, ‘think it’s got a mind of its own.’
‘Dangerous,’ he said.
‘I’ve been using the back lift,’ she said.
‘That one just goes on and on,’ I said. ‘“Doors closing, doors closing...”’
‘It says what floor you’re on,’ she said as a matter of fact.
‘Useful,’ I said.
‘Mind you,’ she said, ‘the other day it took me to the wrong floor.’