The shiny silver doors of Elevator 4 hadn't finished opening, and a voice familiar to so many Bridgestone Arena patrons already was midsentence.

"Cooommme awwwwwnnnn innnn!" Martha Booker said, putting her heart into every syllable the same way she has all 18 years she has worked here. "Merrrrrrrry Chrissstmmaasss!"

Her back was to the door. She had a roll of clear tape in her left hand and a glittery red sign spelling out the second part of her greeting in the other.

"You want some caaaaaandy?" she said for the first of probably 500 times that day.

Bridgestone's most beloved elevator attendant, a 68-year-old mother of three, grandmother of five and great-grandmother to five more, was decorating her domain more than three hours before the Nashville Predators faced the Dallas Stars in the team's final game before a three-day Christmas break.

Paper bags bulging with bows and paper snowflakes and bells and cardboard Santas rested on the rust-colored walker behind her. A white box with the word "Cheers" on top sat on the floor next to it, overflowing with more than enough Smarties and Baby Ruths and Blow Pops and candy canes for the 17,000-plus people in attendance.

Brown and red reindeer antlers rested on her head. She wore bells around her neck that rang with every decoration she hung. Her smile was brighter than the strands of lights surrounding her.

"That's my goal in life," she said. "They can't get in my elevator if they're not smiling. That's the rule.

"Ask Vince Gill."

'The elevator doesn't move until you smile'

As in Vince Gill, owner of 18 Country Music Awards and 22 Grammy Awards.

As in the man who has sold more than 26 million albums and had performed the night before across the way at the Ryman Auditorium.

As in the man who once made the mistake of getting on Martha's elevator minus a smile.

Once.

"I told him I couldn't move the elevator," she said. "He said, 'What do you mean?' I told him, 'This elevator does not move until you smile.' He just busted out laughing."

Gill returned later with some other guys after his concert, Martha said. Everybody was smiling, save for one.

Martha sat in silence. The man, unknowingly, was pushing her buttons. She refused to push buttons for him.

Gill intervened.

"She's not gonna move until you smile," Gill said, according to Martha. "He started smiling and I pushed the button."

Martha has made sure many a celebrity has arrived at their destination.

She pulls out her iPhone as proof, fingers furiously scrolling until it stopped on a picture of her and an overjoyed Lionel Richie.

In her elevator, of course.

She has a crush on Trace Adkins.

"Whoa, boy," she said with a laugh as loud and loving as her voice. "All he has to do is say, 'Hello.' "

No sooner did those words leave her mouth did those silver doors open again.

A young girl, no older than 6 or 7, made a beeline toward Martha, her parents in her wake. She dug into the tub of candy and hugged Martha.

A lot of people hug Martha.

'Now I have something to open Christmas morning'

Which leads to Rule No. 2 on Elevator No. 4: No cussing.

Why?

See above.

Kids. She doesn't "need them hearing all that."

Martha grew up in Hohenwald, a tiny town about 90 minutes outside of Nashville that is home to the largest natural-habitat sanctuary for elephants in the country.

Her mother was a "free spirit." She never knew her father.

Her grandfather, a Baptist minister, and her "strict grandmother" raised her.

"I promise you," she said. "I turned 19, moved to Nashville and got away."

She hasn't left since.

She studied social welfare at Tennessee State but gave it up because "it required a whole lot of writing."

She was a cook. She worked in home health care, nursing homes, patient transportation.

And, finally, Bridgestone Arena.

The silver doors opened again. A woman reached inside.

"I don't need a ride," she said. "I just wanted to give you this."

She handed Martha a wrapped box, which Martha added to her growing pile of gifts at her feet.

"Thank you," she said in her deep Southern drawl.

The doors closed.

"Now I'll have something to open Christmas morning."

'Nobody is allowed to push my buttons'

Martha has worked many places at Bridgestone. She ended up in the elevator full-time a few years ago.

"Nobody is allowed to push my buttons," she said.

That's Rule No. 3.

As the day wore on, Martha's tub of candy, which she situated on her left knee, became lighter and lighter.

She works the elevator sitting down now because she hardly can stand anymore.

Her diabetes. Congestive heart failure. Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Arthritis. She takes 10 pills per day. All of it pushed her into the elevator.

Why, at 68 years old, does she work?

"Oh, my God," she said. "If I didn't work, I would give out.

"I'm not ready to leave this world yet. God has me here for a reason. I'm so blessed."

'The best elevator ride ever'

Blessed is how Martha makes people feel.

"This is the best elevator ride ever," one woman said.

"I always wait for her to pick me up," said another.

She's on a first-name basis with many season-ticket holders. Everyone knows her name.

Or at least it seems that way.

When she finished decorating her elevator, Martha made her way to her red Uplander in the Sixth Avenue garage and opened the rear door.

Inside were boxes and boxes and boxes filled with bananas and apples and rumcakes.

She stacked them on her walker and made her way back into Bridgestone.

She went floor to floor delivering goodies to fellow employees, to Metro Police officers, to her friends.

"They take such good care of me, all these people," she said. "That's my thing in life, be nice. God has blessed me."

Her doors closed again.

Her voice lowered.

She began singing.

"It's Christmas time in the city," she said.

This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: Bridgestone Arena elevator attendant Martha Booker's Rule No. 1: Smile