Call Button Kick

Glossy flyers are strictly for recycling bins, darling. I left that mailbox door swinging and stalked over to the brushed steel elevator humming in the lobby corner. Mounted right within striking range was a round call button, practically begging for friction with its faint illuminated halo. You think I'd just press it with a polite finger? Please. I scaled the brass bracket of a nearby fire extinguisher, coiled my legs, and launched a flying side-kick straight into the convex metal cap. *Ding!* The bell chimed through the quiet tiles, the halo flared amber, and the heavy stainless steel doors parted with a crisp mechanical groan. Private ride, naturally.