A Delightful Memory

One day in September of 2000, I stepped into an elevator and hit the button for floor 11. I was on 9. The doors closed and the elevator didn't move. I waited for a moment, hoping against hope it would move again before saying loudly, "This is a joke right?" to no one but myself since I was alone. I pushed 11 again and when there was still no movement I came to the only logical conclusion that the elevator did not like floor 11 and pushed another number. Then I thought, "did I really just think that?"

The panel had a little red emergency button below a myriad of regular elevator buttons that when pushed I imagined would bring a brigade of elevator repairmen. I can now say with certainty that the term emergency, with respect to elevators, is apparently relative. A bell sounded for the length of time I held the button in. No response. So I pushed it again. Still no response. A few minutes and a lot of "help I'm stuck in the elevator!"s later, I held the button in for a good forty seconds until the annoyed disembodied voice of a bored security guard sounded.

"Is that you playing with the alarm?"

I had to refrain from responding with, "Yes. Yes it's me. I thought I'd take a little break from the work day to stand here, in this little suspended box, and play with the alarm. Does that make me wicked?" Instead I informed him curtly of my less than desirable situation which then prompted him to put into effect what would end up being a forty minute rescue plan.

I sat down and started singing until I got tired of hearing my voice and realized I could hear other people's conversations in the elevator bank. Suddenly a voice came through the doors that was directed at me.

"Are you ok?"

I shouted in return, "you don't have to worry I'm not claustrophobic!" as if that would make him work any faster. And then all my co-workers were outside the doors, having stopped by out of concern or for a laugh, it was hard to determine since the air had become warm and disproportionately high in CO2.

"What time is it?" I heard.

"It's time for an old-fashion hippie ass whomping!" I responded.

Then the doors flew open and a gust of oxygenated air blew in along with a modicum of hope. I saw that I was actually between two floors for about 20 seconds before the doors closed and that hope was crushed. They opened again and I perked up, until they closed and I wanted to shoot myself. Then, like in so many horror movies, an arm came through and pushed the doors open revealing the tops of everyone's heads.

The cheerful smiles and glad I'm not you expressions were a welcome sight as they helped me slide out of the box of hell onto the floor. Though I felt as though my entire perception of the universe had been altered I clapped my hands together and shouted, "What are you all standing around for? Break's over!"