Ah, yes - the psychiatrist's couch - that old comedy standby. And what better way to work through your inner demons/phobias/crippling insecurities than by vending to what looks to be Freud's great great grandson.
And for one of Freud's posterity, you're making this far too easy, Ziggy. Elevators are plainly symbols of the womb. Elevator music parallels the screams of childbirth. It's your mother! She brought you into this world, full of hatred and despair! She formed your fleshy body, a prison for your anxiety and despair!
Needlessly dark diatribes aside, it's nice that this is the biggest thing on Ziggy's mind. You'll do alright, kid.
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