They Mocked the Janitor’s Badge — Until the Elevator Dinged Buttons glowed. Snickers bounced. Then doors slid open. The elevator was crowded, suits and heels packed tight, briefcases brushing against tired coats. The janitor stood near the back, mop cart parked just outside, his badge hanging crooked from a frayed lanyard. It looked old. Faded. Almost embarrassing. A man near the buttons glanced at it and smirked. “Did you get that thing from a cereal box?” he said to his coworker. They laughed.