I’m beginning to see a pattern here. I just re-read my last two blogs. Two days in a row the Wall Street Journal was missing in the morning. I walked up and down the stairs twice to check on the papers, avoiding the elevator at all costs. The second run the local paper was there, but not the Wall Street Journal. Angela and I (taking the stairs) walked over to Panera and she treated me to lunch. When we got back to our building low and behold there sitting in our lobby was the Wall Street Journal. There were three, and I knew who the other two went to so I told Angela I would take them to that office. I was just grabbing the door to the stairs when Angela got to the elevator and convinced me to take it. I hopped off at our first stop and ran around the corner to deliver the papers and Angela was holding back the doors as they tried to close on her waiting for me. I slipped through the closing doors and hit the button to our floor. Okay, fine, I'll admit it. We work on the 3rd floor and I took the papers to the 2nd floor and there are only five floors in our tiny building.
Suddenly, it was like Fright Fest at Six Flags. The elevator went all the way up to the fifth floor, then back to the lobby, then back up and down. When it was moving and seemed to never stop, is when I started panicking. (I am not the person you go to in a crisis. I am the person you run from.) Angela said, “Its okay, we’ll get out.” She pressed all the floor buttons (only five). The car stopped between two floors. We know this because once it stopped and Angela had pressed the open door button and nothing happened and after she rang the emergency bell three times, she finally started prying open the doors. I was scrunched up in the far corner peering out under my hair, and saw we were indeed between two floors. I had my cell phone and tried to call the office and no luck. The maintenance guy was on vacation anyway. Angela used to work for the fire department, so she called the chief.
While Angela was talking with the fire chief I checked my teeth in the full length mirror at the back of the elevator. I didn't want lettuce blacking out a tooth when I smiled a grateful thanks to strapping handsome firemen. The chief called District 1 and they were on the way to get us, but she had to call 911 to make a report.
It was about 18 minutes of life stuck in an elevator. It was growing hot – I had on three layers. I took off my scarf, then my jacket, then my sweater. (I still had on a shirt.) I was thinking, at least I brought my cookie and chips back with me for sustenance and we had something to read. I didn’t know how long we’d be in there. I do I think I sucked up all the oxygen in that enclosed space. I laugh when I am nervous and I was giggling the whole time. We heard sounds of our rescue. One of them called through the doors, "It sounds like a party in there." (That would be me giggling.) Soon the doors opened and five firemen were staring in at us. Two held the doors back and I hopped out first. Had to hop down as we were still stuck in between floors. It was the lobby. I felt light-headed and needed to lean against a wall. Two more firemen came out of the stairwell. It felt so good to be free. I have made a vow to take the stairs from now on. (I hope I remember to do that.)
One of the cute (single) firemen followed me up three flights of stairs to my office to get a phone number for the building. Meanwhile back in the lobby, Angela was talking with one of the guys she knows. He told her they arrived with the siren screaming. (Thankfully we didn’t hear it. That’s just embarrassing.) He told her the chief told them to go to 401 Chestnut but then 911 dispatch called and sent them to the hotel next door. They went to the hotel and asked if that was the place with the stuck elevator. It figures, they’d try to go save “Edward” first. Luckily we weren’t on fire or something tragic.
I would like to thank the seven firemen from District 1 who were fearless and brave and saved us from the broken elevator at 401 Chestnut Street. Thank you!