Sunday, 17 August 2003 | Elevator

(The following was written last Thursday, pre-blackout.)

Three split seconds in which I thought I might get stuck in an elevator in the past two days, and an array of Goldilocks responses from my split-second brain. The first happened when I was running late. Rather than being upset that the elevator was going to make me even later than I already was, or simply worrying that I might be stuck in an elevator, I immediately thought what a great excuse getting stuck in an elevator would be. (Un)fortunately, the elevator stepped back in line within seconds. (This porridge is too hot.)

The second happened in the building where I take yoga. The elevators there are small, elderly, and slow. So when I saw the door closing, I threw out my arm to stop it, and it retracted, as expected. A man on the other side (whom I'd never seen before) hissed at me, "Hurry up! I've got to catch a train." I jumped in the elevator, and he began punching a button over and over again as if he were playing pinball. "You didn't see me do this," he said, taking a sideways glance at me as he pushed some other, more mysterious button, one that I think was supposed to deceive the elevator into thinking that the ground floor was the only destination that mattered. The elevator buckled for a moment at his request, and it promptly occured to me that I was being punished for my earlier elevator-related wish. It coughed and choked and spat, and then suddenly it began the slow ride down, sending us straight into the pit of the building. Just before it came to a stop, my elevator partner randomly asked me if I needed a ride to Penn Station. (This porridge is too cold.)

The third. On my way out of the building with a few other coworkers, the door tricked me into thinking it was going to open on a non-floor, as it exposed an inch of metal in the space where bodies normally pass through. Rather than thinking that I was about to be stuck in a metal box with a pack of skirts and heels and oxygen-breathing bodies, my split-second brain found the prospect interesting, as if it were part of the plot. Before my rational brain had a chance to object and be annoyed or concerned, the elevator was on its way again. (This porridge is just right.)