A year ago, my wife and I spent a few weeks in Spain, Portugal, and Morocco, and as usual were in search of naval information and photos no one else had. In Madrid, we toured the Palacio Real and afterward found ourselves on one of the upper floors of the palace.
My arthritis was flaring up, so my wife asked one of the guards if there was an elevator for the disabled. he pointed to one at the end of the hallway, telling us firmly to wait for an attendant. After several minutes and no attendant, we defied authority and pushed the "down" button. Soon the doors opened to a very ornate elevator with velvet-cushioned wooden seats, red satin, and the obvious trappings of wealth and power, and we climbed aboard.
Moments later the elevator stopped and a man entered and sat across from us. To be polite and strike up conversation, I asked, "So, how do you like Spain?"
"I like Spain very much," he replied calmly. "I am the king."
Sure enough, it was King juan Carlos I himself, who just as politely asked us how we liked Spain and what we were doing there in his royal elevator.