Is This Rod Serling's Floor?

So I get in the elevator to go downstairs for the 5:00 o'clock "almost time to go home/I need a break before I take a hostage" snack.

I hear sort of a muffled grumble before the doors open. Kind of like a bad walkie talkie connection.

The doors open and I dismiss what I thought I heard. I get in and the doors close.

"Hello! ize mahattam grundadad dare or spueaking?", says the elevator.

I step out of the puddle of urine I have just created and immediately downshift from terrified that I may have just dialed into God via an elevator, to normal everyday being courteous to someone who has called a wrong number.

"Um, you've called an elevator", I say as though that kind of thing happens all the time.

"Ohd, den dist noomber not real to de real number", squawks back the elevator speakerphone thingie that I didn't even knew existed.

"Uh, yeah sorry, I think you have the wrong number", I kinda repeat.

"Alright, thank you for your help", chirps back the elevator in suddenly perfect non-accented English.

"Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue", I think to myself as I make my way to the chocolate dispensary.

.....and you thought you were scared of elevators before