Trapped in an Elevator, Again.

Among life’s many thrilling experiences, getting stuck in an elevator is somewhere in my top ten. It ranks slightly below a good bout of food poisoning and just above more commonly enjoyed events like burning the hell out of my mouth and having my nose hairs freeze up.

Yes, I am living quite an amazing life.

Of all of life’s experiences though, being stuck in an elevator offers the uniquely ridiculous combination of total surprise and life threatening reality that few non-violent events can achieve. It happens quietly, but suddenly. You step into the box, the doors close, life is in peril, you’re screwed. Perhaps you get stuck right away, or maybe you started to ascend and now you’re dangling somewhere between the ground and the top floor (ah, these metaphors for life just keep coming). Whatever you were doing when you walked in, whatever you were thinking about, all of it is stopped short.

Actual elevator of entrapment.

Actual elevator of entrapment.

While getting trapped in an elevator is in no way an event singular to New York City, it sure feels like it. With roughly 75,000 elevators in the NYC metropolitan area, the city is literally full of elevators. So, odds are you’re on an elevator more than you would prefer. The majority of the city’s elevators are in small office buildings and residential addresses where technology is not paramount, nor is any real upkeep beyond the requisite repairs mandated by the city’s inspections every few years.

I have been stuck in an elevator in NYC multiple times, the most recent of which is evidenced by the stunning photograph above—I know, it’s riveting. I have been trapped in both large, corporate office building elevators where a team of people was dispatched to free me from the confines of the metal box and random, nameless buildings where the shabby condition of the elevator probably should have tipped me off, and where I may never have been discovered. In both scenarios freedom was neither swift nor easy. And I like my freedom like I like my men, swift and easy.

The thought process you have while realizing that, much like R. Kelly who was “trapped in the closet,” you are, in fact, trapped in an elevator goes something like this:

  1. Fuck.
  2. Maybe it’s not stuck.
  3. … It’s stuck.
  4. Fuck.
  5. Where’s the call button?
  6. Should I push the alarm button?
  7. Is anyone even there?
  8. “Yes, hello… Hello?”
  9. “Can you hear me?”
  10. My location? I’m trapped in the goddamn elevator.
  11. You stay calm.
  12. “Okay, I’m staying calm.”
  13. And my phone has no reception.
  14. Unfuckingbelievable.
  15. I guess I’ll sit down.
  16. I wish I had a water.
  17. Thank god I’m alone in here./Thank god I’m not alone in here.
  18. Oh god, I’m all alone in here./Oh god, who the hell are these people?
  19. I have to pee.
  20. Where are these guys?
  21. It’s hot in here.
  22. Am I stuck on a floor or in between floors?
  23. Maybe I could shimmy out of the top latch?
  24. Yeah, okay, MacGyver. Way to get impaled.
  25. Fuck.
  26. What if no one comes?
  27. No one knows where I am.
  28. No one even knows I’m in here.
  29. I could be in here for days.
  30. If there was a nuclear war right now, no one would ever find me.
  31. I could die in here.
  32. Okay, stop being so paranoid.
  33. I wish I had someone to talk to./I wish this guy would shut up.
  34. Seriously, where are these guys?
  35. Thank god I’m not claustrophobic.
  36. I’m feeling a little claustrophobic.
  37. Okay, stay calm.
  38. Deep breaths.
  39. I am zen.
  40. I am zen.
  41. Maybe some music.
  42. No… save the battery. 
  43. Fuck.
  44. I never ate lunch.
  45. I read you can survive on Chapstick.

Each time I was trapped I told myself I would be more cautious in the future, remain on the look out for a questionnable car, and avoid using an elevator altogether when I could. But as the sting of my forced confinement eventually wore off and the elevator went back to being the necessary norm it is, I let my guard down. 

The few times I have been stuck, I’ve been lucky that I was alone or with only one other person. My nightmare (jinxing myself right now for sure) would be a crammed elevator where there is no room to sit down, the collective body temperature makes for sweaty confines and some self-nominated bright light starts coming up with ideas on how best to free ourselves. No thank you. I would also never want to be stuck in an elevator at a tourist attraction. The St. Louis arch comes to mind as the worst possible elevator to be stuck in; no windows, about three square feet of space and the all the charm of a port-o-potty. Death by electric toilet.*

So, the next time I get trapped in an elevator, I will do well to remind myself that, in addition to the creature comforts I’ll be enjoying during my time in there, no one knows where I am, no one knows who I am, and I could be stuck for days without food, water or a lifeline to the outside world before anyone even realizes I’m missing. That heartwarming message should help to pass the time in between cursing my phone and renditions of Destiny’s Child hits.

There’s nothing so ridiculous as the doomsday scenario-ist within, especially when stuck in an elevator with no music.

*Going atop my list of potential band names.