Doors of Opportunity

Doors of Opportunity

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This elevator has certainly seen better days. It’s ugly and shabby, not like those beautiful old European elevators that still run in the hotels on the Boulevard de la Villette or those other old Parisian neighborhoods. No. This elevator is a cruder, simpler piece of junk. It’s dark, and there is a permanent stink of filth in the air.
It is the summer of my senior year in college, 20 minutes before I am scheduled to speak to a crowd of 200 high school seniors on the prospect of pursuing a degree in communication studies. On the way to my car I realize that I have left my notes in my hotel room on the eighth floor.
I glance at my watch. 20 minutes. I start to run. I sprint to the elevator and leap through the doors just as they close. Then I spin around, face the front, and hastily press the button for the eighth floor. As I ascend I crouch. I poise myself like a lion waiting for its prey, ready to leap through the doors the second they open. But the doors never open.
In a panic I start hitting random buttons: 1, 6, 8, 2, 4. Each time I press one of them the elevator makes a screeching sound. It trembles and quivers almost as if the doors were actually opening. But again nothing happens.
My thoughts start racing. I am stuck! What if no one finds me? What if I am trapped here for days? I don’t have any food. How many days can you go without food? I don’t have any water. Can you survive without water? And what about that mail deliveryman on the news? Didn’t he dehydrate and die in an elevator?
10 minutes. The clock keeps on ticking, eating up time. 10 minutes left to avoid humiliation before the best and brightest future leaders of tomorrow. I would be ruined! I kick at the door. I bang it with my fists and frantically jab at the elevator buttons. Still nothing happens. I start yelling, " Help! Someone call help! I’m stuck!”
“No you’re not,” a timid voice exclaims behind me. I feel a cold chill. The elevator had been empty when I entered it. With bulging eyes, I spin around - only to discover two wide-eyed kids waiting to get on.
Relief. I smile as I walk past them, out of those doors. As I exit I remember the many times that I stood blind, kicking at a closed door when all I needed to do was turn around.