Make Me Love You:
Public, Part One
Public, Part Two
Private

I discovered I have a fear of getting stuck in an elevator.

But it's not for the reason that most people are afraid of getting stuck in an elevator. Small spaces don't bother me, unless there is something right in front of my face or there are a bunch of other people there that could get suddenly weird and/or violent, like say at a concert or something.

Nah, I'm afraid of getting stuck in an elevator in the same way I'm afraid of getting sick in the middle of the night, so sick that I want to see a doctor but not sick enough that I get to pass out so someone else has to take care of getting me help.

I don't want to have to decide whether I should call 911 or not, or get someone to take me to the emergency room, because I know, in the interest of not causing all sorts of hubbub, I'd just sort of let myself waste away. It would be a bummer, yes. But it would be quiet. What if I insist on going to the emergency room and in the end, it wasn't necessary? I know you know what I'm talking about. Am I sick enough to warrant a hospital trip at 2AM? Maybe I'll wait a couple more hours. Maybe I'll drink some tea. Somebody hand me the Codeine.

Like that.

This is because my family was raised to be stoic in times of pain or panic. We were all taught not to make a scene, don't call too much attention to ourselves, just try to calmly and quietly resolve the situation.

Stiff upper lip and buck up little camper and all that jazz.

And so, along those same lines, if I get stuck in an elevator, how do I know when I'm stuck enough that I should use that little emergency phone? That might just cause a scene, folks. I've never had to do it before, but I imagine it would get one or two people moderately riled up.

And I mean, geez. What if the elevator was just sort of hanging out, and simply pushing the "open door" button would fix everything but I just didn't know that? How embarrassing would that be, when the rescue men arrive and the whole time the elevator was doing nothing more than being lazy and bastardly, and all they do to "rescue" me is push the up arrow?

The idea makes me writhe.

I got into an elevator on Friday, pressed the 5 button, and waited. And the doors didn't close. So I pushed the 5 button again. And again. And then I pressed the "door close" button.

The elevator made a growly, emergency buzz sound and the doors closed and the little floor display, that tells you where the elevator is taking you, said "P3." Which, of course, is parking level 3 and nowhere remotely close to the 5th floor.

I made that little put-out tutting sound that you hear most of the time from teenagers, and I watched the screen, and nothing happened. And I stood there for a minute, and it didn't feel like I was moving at all.

So I said, out loud to myself, "I'm not really stuck in the elevator."

The elevator moved up just a touch, and then back down, and the screen still didn't change, it just said

P3

(dammit)

I considered trying the "door open" button, but I wondered, if the elevator really was in transit, what would happen if I did. Maybe it would cause an alarm to go off, alerting everyone in the building to the fact that while I am able to understand, utilize and manage advanced technology, the simple operation of an elevator - something that has been in general public use for a good, long time now - apparently seems to be outside of my realm of ability.

So I did the next best thing.

I stood there.

After the elevator had moved up and down a few more times, and the screen still wasn't changing, that bastardly, horrible little screen, I chanced it. I pushed the lobby button.

The elevator seemed to take a moment to reflect. I could feel this cosmic line in the sand being drawn, and this silent, mechanical assessment of me was being taken. Was I one to screw with? Could it hold me there a bit longer? What were the consequences?

To show it I wasn't effing around, I pushed the lobby button several more times. Hard. Rapidly. And I swore, too, and I kicked the wall, albeit quietly. Just to show it I meant business. And I was wearing my boots.

Well, apparently my point was made, because that horrible, sucky elevator finally moved, for real, I could feel it move, and the little screen changed to "L."

Oh, but the doors didn't open. Yes, my friend the elevator had to show me that while overall I had won the war, this one last battle would not be had so easily.

I called the elevator something ridiculous, possibly a shitmonger, and hit the "open door" button as hard as I could.

The doors calmly slid open. And I was free.

To show it I wasn't scared, I waited in the lobby until the doors had closed and then hit the "up" button. And even though I wouldn't take that particular little crappy car any more, sticking to the other two for the rest of the day, I refused to be broken and I didn't take the stairs.

The fear still remains, though. I get the feeling that if I were to get stuck in an elevator, I would wait a good, long while before resorting to the emergency phone. Like, It's been five hours? Yeah, I think it's safe to say I'm stuck. Better call for help.

Or, maybe I'll give it another few minutes.

So, if you suddenly don't hear from me for quite a time, let me suggest to you now: check all the elevators.

Please. I'll be waiting patiently inside, trying not to make a scene.

-Mlle R