In Search of an Apple Fritter

      All I wanted was an apple fritter. Just one apple fritter. Have you ever had a really good apple fritter? The outside coated with a crunchy layer of brown sugar and the inside a rich cake with bits of baked apple? It was just the thing I needed on a Friday morning; the perfect reward for a long week’s worth of hard work.

           And the only obstacle between me and an apple fritter was six floors. I work on the third floor and I heard someone talking about a huge batch of apple fritters a worker spontaneously brought for the nineth floor. There likely wouldn’t be enough apple fritters for everyone on that floor, plus me. Time was of the essence. I’m ashamed to admit it, but running up six flights of stairs simply wasn’t an option. I’m not afraid of exercise, but at the moment I felt that getting sweat spots on my work shirt was beneath my dignity.

           So, I took the elevator.

           I had it all worked out. I would go to the ninth floor, grab a fritter, and walk down the stairwell while devouring my delicious prize, and my coworkers wouldn’t be the wiser. It would take Friday up a notch and the rest of the day would be a breeze.

           There were two other people in the elevator with me, a young lady and a black guy about my age, and I didn’t pay any heed to them at first. I only noticed that one had pushed the tenth-floor button and one had pushed the eighth. None of us would make it.

           I’m told that a dumb teenager, on a dare from his buddies, attempted to scale a telephone pole to hang a figure of obscene nature on the power box. He did not succeed in this endeavor and somehow he managed to crash the power box and himself onto the sidewalk below. I’m also told he survived this reckless stunt…darn it.

           As a result of these shenanigans, my companions and I were in between the fifth and sixth floors when the power went out. It went dark, and the sparse emergency lights came on. The three of us were silent for a good ten seconds.

           I finally said, rather lamely, “Um, what just happened?”

           “I think we’re stuck,” the lady said.

           “No kidding!” the black guy replied.

           Once it became apparent that we weren’t going anywhere, I decided to introduce myself.

           “I’m Calvin Briggs. I work on third.”

           The lady smiled, “Laurie Trent. I’m on second.”

           “Marcus Billingsley,” the black guy said, “first.”

           Considering my own ulterior motive, I refrained from asking them what they were doing going to the eighth and tenth floors. It was none of my business.

           “How long do you think we’ll be in here?” Laurie asked, “Do you think it’s the whole building or…?”

           Marcus said, “Oh, the power’s definitely out. The emergency lights wouldn’t be on otherwise.”

           The power was out. I quietly sighed with disappointment, knowing that any hope of an apple fritter that morning was gone, and now I had bigger problems. Thankfully, I had already typed up my progress report for that week and saved it on our shared database, but I had not turned it in. With the power down and me in the elevator, my chance for getting everything done before the weekend was growing bleaker.

           Laurie bit her lip, “I have to get back to my desk. I have work to do.”

           I said, “If it makes you feel any better, the rest of the building’s not going to get a lot of work done either.”

           “Don’t we have generators?” Marcus asked.

           I answered, “We do, but their scope is limited.”

           We went back and forth on the subject for a few minutes and I found it a great relief when Laurie and Marcus finally exhausted all of their ideas and, like myself, were ready to accept their fate.

           The three of us said down on the elevator floor. Laurie was particularly happy to rest her feet. Marcus loosened his tie. We sat quietly for what seemed like a minute.

           Laurie gasped, “I hear something!”

           I could barely hear it at first, but it wasn’t long before it came closer. It was a scratching sound.

           “Do you think that’s someone coming to wedge the doors open?” Laurie asked.

           Marcus and I exchanged a suspicious look. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like a repair man. When we heard the thump on the roof of the elevator, too small to be a human but too…active to be debris, I could see Laurie’s eyes widen in dread of what was to come. 

           I don’t know the last time the elevator had undergone maintenance. It didn’t really matter. All I know is that a panel in the ceiling gave way, and we were joined by a very panicked, very large rat.

           Looking back, I didn’t know such sounds could come from three adults. I think an urban legend was started by the screams we let out. Of course, all we knew in that moment was mindless terror. We bunched against the wall in a huddle, with us on one side of the elevator and the rat on the other. The rat darted to and fro, and wherever he went, we moved the opposite direction. We danced around like this for at least a minute. No army regiment could have been better organized.

           Finally, the rat decided it had enough running around and remained in one place against the wall. I was sandwiched in between the other two, trying to figure out a way to fight off the fearsome beast, when Marcus saw it.

           “Wait a minute…” he said, “What’s it got in its mouth?”

           Laurie and I peered at the creature in the meager light. It did indeed have a large object in its teeth, one that I recognized a moment later.

           But it was Laurie who said, “Is that…an apple fritter?”

           It was too incredible. Here I was, stuck in an elevator for an indefinite period of time, with a rodent who had managed to abscond with the reason I was in the elevator in the first place. My fear was quickly replaced with wrath.

           “You…You little thief!” I shook my fist at the rat.

           Marcus was shouting at it too, “You got an apple fritter? You? There’s no justice in this world! No justice!”

           Laurie held up her hands, “Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” She had managed to get our attention and she went on, “Don’t tell me…you two…were getting an apple fritter?”

           For several seconds, the only sound in the elevator was the rat munching on his burgled pastry. The full extent of the situation’s absurdity rested on each of us. It was too incredible.

           I spoke first, “I…I heard there were apple fritters on the ninth floor, and I…but…you two weren’t going to the ninth floor.”

           Marcus said, “I was going to eighth. I thought I would just walk up a floor, that it would be less suspicious.”

           Laurie said, “I was going to go down a floor from tenth.”

           “…Looks like none of us will get a fritter now,” I said, “Except the furry one over there.”

           For a brief moment, it crossed my mind that the rat hadn’t eaten all of the fritter and it could easily be overpowered. We could break off the eaten portion and…Boy, that was desperate. I wasn’t going to take anything from a rat, even an apple fritter.

           The three of us remained standing, unable to relax as long as the rat was there. So, we started to chat, wanting to talk about anything else except rodents and fritters. Turns out, both Marcus and I liked the same football team. Laurie had some great advice for our work routines.  We exchanged phone numbers, recommended lawn and repair services, and even debated the best Bond movie.  The time went by a lot more quickly than it could have.

Our screams had a benefit. It had spurred the maintenance crew to hurry and get us out of the elevator, and we were free before we knew it. The power was still generally out, but we parted ways in the stairwell to try to salvage what was left of the day at our different work floors.

We made a promise, though, to meet the next morning at the Bunny café to laze about, drink gourmet coffee, and eat all the apple fritters the baristas could whip out. We’ve been friends ever since.

The rat managed to escape, by the way, before the maintenance workers could get to him. I wish the little slippery fellow all the luck in the world. It didn’t stop me from requesting pest control as soon as I was able, but I wish him all the luck.