Stuck in an Elevator Between Floors!

For many years I worked in high-rise buildings in Philadelphia. For one job, this meant taking an elevator up to the 47th floor and then down at the end of the work day. Never once did the elevator malfunction during the seven years I followed this routine. The elevators were a dependable means of transport within the building and we had confidence in them.

I really appreciated this convenience when this service came to an abrupt end the day after the terrorist attack on the Twin Towers in New York city. An announcement was made over the office loudspeaker that employees could not use the elevator. The only way we could get out of the building was by walking down 47 floors! We were each given "survival kits" that contained a face mask, a flash light, batteries, and some band aids. This was a scary and arduous way to end our day. We had light in the building, but we figured the flash lights were given to us in case electricity was lost in the subways that most of us used to get home. It was known that subway systems were often the target of terrorists.

We found out a few days later that our building actually received terrorist threats. This could have been a non-threatening hoax from copy caters, but precautions had to be taken for employee safety.

My confidence in taking an elevator was shaken when I made an appointment the following year with Arlene, a financial advisor whose office was in a five-story building in New Jersey. She stayed after hours to accommodate me. So by the time we were ready to leave, the building had been vacated. 

We took the elevator to descend to the ground floor, but shortly after the elevator doors closed, we came to a grinding halt. Pushing the button to open the doors didn’t work because we were between floors! Arlene panicked and tried calling her husband, but her cell phone had no reception in those tight quarters. For some reason, I remained calm and told her not to worry; I would push the HELP button inside the elevator. When the technician answered I thought for sure we would hear a calming voice telling us how he would resolve our situation. We were taken aback to hear a panicked voice exclaim “Oh My God!” I thought Arlene was going to faint.

We remained in the stuck elevator for about a half hour until an elevator technician arrived and fixed the problem. Whew! What a relief.

I never used to think twice about taking an elevator, but now I do even though I have relegated the trepidation to my subconscious. I tell myself “What are the odds?”

That is the question I ask myself when deciding to do something outside my comfort level like traveling to Europe on my own and learning to fly a single-engine Cessna.

My mother certainly wasn't a risk taker. When she heard my plans to travel from our home in Pennsylvania to Colorado to look at property with a realtor I met online, she was horrified. Her response was “Have you lost your mind? You’re traveling across the country to meet a man you met over the internet who says he’s a realtor!”

“Mom, trust me.  We’ve been e-mailing for weeks.” 

           The next day I arrived at the Colorado Springs Airport.

Outside the baggage claim door, a jeep pulled up. A thirty-something man jumped out and greeted me with a smile and a business card.

“Hi, Geraldine. I’m Peter.”

He put my bag in the back of the jeep.

           Heading Southwest, we drove for two hours before pulling into the mountain village of Cuchara.  

           Peter pulled up to “The Rivers Edge Bed and Breakfast,” a timber structure at the far end of an unpaved road.

            “You’ll love this place. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and we’ll search for property.”

           The tall, unshaven man dressed in torn jeans who answered the door had a ruddy face framed by mangy strands of long gray hair. 

            “Hi, I’m Snappy, the handyman!” 

           Hmm, the handyman answers the door, I thought. Curious. 

           Inside, I glanced around hoping for the innkeepers to appear. 

            “I’ll be your host for the weekend. Marge and Bill went to Florida. They showed me the ropes before they left.” 

           Maybe he showed the innkeepers the “ropes” and strangled them, I mused. He probably had them buried in a blood-spattered cellar.

            “Where are the other guests?” 

Snappy took the dangling cigarette out of his mouth and just looked at me. 

There was a long pause.

“Right now, it’s just you. We’re expecting two couples tomorrow.”

Something is wrong with this picture, I worried. 

Anxious to get away from him, I asked, “Is it safe to walk to the souvenir shop?  I noticed ‘Bear Warning’ signs.”

Snappy laughed. “As long as you don’t wear a pork chop around your neck, the bears won’t come after you.” 

           I returned safely at dusk.

           In the morning Snappy apologized for the greasy fried eggs and bacon.

Still working on getting a college degree, I went into the den with a textbook to study and wait for the realtor. 

           Snappy wandered in, and I could tell he wanted to talk. This character intrigued me for some reason. To my surprise, he was familiar with the textbook on my lap.

“If you need any help with statistics, I have a Masters Degree from Texas A&M in math.”

           Taken aback, I blurted “How did you end up here? You’re obviously intelligent.”

“I dropped out. Pure and simple. I saw what my father went through in Corporate America and that wasn’t for me. He had a heart attack at 47. I bummed around Colorado after school, working as a ski instructor and ended up here. My hobby is photography, hence the nickname Snappy. 

           Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the front door. It was the two couples with reservations and my realtor following behind them. As I stood up, my cell phone rang. “Yes, Mom, I’m fine. Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.” 

When traveling with my mother, we always had to find an elevator because she was afraid of escalators. To her that would be taking a chance. If she only knew!