You don’t want me in your elevator

Three times now, I’ve been stuck in elevators, the most recent being the week before last

In Beaumont, Texas, I got stuck on the third floor, where the newsroom was located. I tried to use the emergency-phone thingy, but it didn’t work. After much banging on the doors, someone managed to free me. I then sent out an email warning my colleagues that the emergency-phone thingy didn’t work, which garnered me a reprimand from management, who, as it turns out, had installed the phone to pacify the many disgruntled employees who’d been trapped in the elevator. Management, however, never had any plans to connect to the phone to any sort of answering service or security. Boo. Hiss.

At the Democrat-Gazette, I’ve gotten stuck twice.

On the first occasion, I was bringing lunch back for myself and an injured friend (Moody Mom). Also in the elevator was a man who had volunteered to bring in an obit for a friend. The elevator stalled somewhere near the third floor. It took about an hour for the maintenance guys to pry open the doors. The hapless obit-bringer and I then had to step UP to the third floor. I took him over to the clerks, who informed him that he should have gotten off on the second floor, which, of course, would have spared him that hour of my chatter.

The week before last, I was on my way from the third floor to the first. This time, I was delivering Girl Scout cookies to a friend who had stopped by the D-G to pick up her many boxes of cookies. The elevator stalled before it even began its descent. I used the phone thingy, which rings security, and informed one of the guards that I was stuck. I also asked him to tell the woman waiting in the lobby that I promised not to eat her cookies, tempting though they were.

Long minutes passed. A few times, people banged on the doors, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The elevator then descended to the second floor, where it jammed again. More banging. More muffled words from outside.

Then, silence. More silence … Where were my rescuers? Had someone kindly decided to order me a batch of firefighters?!

More silence.

Finally, someone returned and wrested the doors opened.

Turns out that when the elevator made it to the second floor, two of my colleagues reported that I had managed to escape the elevator.

A third colleague was skeptical.

“Did you actually see Cathy get out of the elevator?” he asked.

Why, no, they hadn’t.

I’m not sure who finally realized I was stuck in there, but thanks to these employees’ efforts, I made it out in about 20 minutes.

My friend was still patiently waiting in the lobby.

The moral of this tale? Getting stuck in an elevator isn’t as scary as it sounds, especially if you have food on hand.

But just once, I would like to be rescued by firefighters.

4 thoughts on “You don’t want me in your elevator

  1. That’s exactly why I used to walk up six flights of stairs when I was working at an insurance company. One of my co-workers got stuck and had to be pulled out of the top of the elevator. No thanks!

    Like

  2. I used to have the personal policy that I would never take that very elevator unless I was on the clock. I, by golly, wanted to be paid if I got stuck, but I’ve been slipping lately and taking the beast on my way to go home. Hum, me thinks it’s time to rethink.

    Like

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