I Hate Elevators

I Hate Elevators


I Hate Elevators, you think
Oh, if only I weren’t
Too fat to take the stairs!

An important meeting
A career-changing meeting
A meeting essential to life
A meeting that could build a new future
A meeting the could make all my wildest dreams come true
A meeting I must attend
And it’s on the twenty-first floor.

In the lobby your chest tightens
You know what lies ahead
Its mouth gaping
Beckoning you in
Grinning
Leering
The small chime sounds like approaching doom

You step in
First one elegantly clad foot
Dressed to the nines
Followed by a pin-striped pant leg
And the floor adjusts to you
Not noticeably to anyone else
But earth-shatteringly to you

Is this worth it?
The meeting
Focus on the meeting
And kittens
And puppies
Sugar and spice and all things nice
And the woman in the elevator next to you

Hello . . .

The doors have shut and you are trapped
Shooting upwards
Frightened eyes reflected in the mirrored walls
I hate these freakin’ mirrors.

You try to distract yourself by looking at the woman next to you
Your eyes catch hers
Devastatingly gorgeous
A movie star or model
Has nothing on her
And you pray fervently
That your mouth isn’t hanging open

The tailored suit strains gently against a beautiful body
The briefcase hangs from a manicured hand
The nails long and lacquered
A hint of heart-stopping knee peeks from the skirt
More tantalizing than the entire leg could have been
Her ankles are perfection personified
Her wrists are unadorned and lovely beyond belief
The eyes are smoky
Bedroom eyes, they call them
And they look at you
Taking your measure
Her eyes are fixed on yours
Deep, dark, holding vast mysterious secrets
And you feel yourself falling as you’re rising
And then she starts to speak
Taking forever to part those full, red lips
Will the words be pleasant?
Will she notice the coffee you spilled on yourself this morning?
You are enraptured
And she says

Bing!

The elevator chimes, and you blink.
She’s not looking at you
But you’ve reached the fourth floor without incident
Unless you count eye-humping a complete stranger
The doors open, some get in
Some get out, the doors close
And you continue your ascent to the life-changing meeting

You look at your reddened face in the mirror
Realizing that this elevator is tiny
And that there are too many people in it
Do you suppose we’re over the limit
Why do we have to crowd in? 
Are there no more elevators to take in this
Monument to 20th century architecture?
Are there no meetings today
On the second floor
Within easy reach of the stairs?
Why are there so many people in here?
Your lungs tighten, and you tell yourself to just chill out
There’s nothing wrong

You lean against the mirror, trying to relax
There is a shift
You know you felt a tremor
The people shift uneasily
Glancing at each other
Catching their own nervous glances in the mirror
And you know that it’s not just your imagination
There really was movement
Other than the gentle climb

And then there is a jerk
This was no tremor
And someone gives a little shriek
As the lights flicker
And the car tilts sideways with a grind
But then there is a screeching sound
Long and eerie
It sounds like hell has visited the elevator
And a smell
The smell of a dryer in a bathtub
And your feet leave the floor

You’re falling!  The lights go out
And there are full-fledged screams now
And a man is tearing at his $4,000 suit
And the beautiful woman is hitting the mirrors
And the cage becomes a trap
And you are stuck inside
And you watch the numbers flash idiotically by
And you brace yourself for the crash
As if it was something you could brace for
And when it comes there is a sound like

Bing!

The elevator chimes, and you blink.
You’re not dying
But you’ve reached the twelfth floor without incident
Unless you count an imaginary plunge to your death
The doors open, some get in
Some get out, the doors close
And you continue your ascent to the life-changing meeting

Is this worth it? 
You hold tightly on to the inhaler
Kept out in case you lungs decide
To freak out on you
Not uncommon in elevators
Where there are too many people
Like the one you’re in now

Two children have boarded
They are smiling and gooey
Covered in the suckers that they clutch
In their grubby little hands
You try to edge closer to the wall
But the wall doesn’t budge
And you’re already up against it
And one of them looks at his mother
Tired, pale, haggard woman
In an ill-fitting top and baggy pants
Where could she possibly be going in this building
Dressed like that?
Her children are dirty
And noisy
They leave sticky handprints on the mirrors
And their mother
She closes her eyes against the noise
And the gentle rising of the elevator
Then one of the children spies you
In your corner
Trapped by the mirrored walls
And she grins at you
Dirty little ragamuffin that she is
You try to grin back
But your mouth is frozen
And then the child reaches for you
The grubby hand getting closer
Closer
Closer
To your perfectly pressed pants
And you can see dirt and lint and God knows what else
Mired in the sucker scum that covers
The grubby little hand that is nearly to you
And you can see what it will do to your clothes
And you try to imagine what the man you’re meeting will say
When you walk in with a clearly defined handprint
On your pants
It can’t happen
But the hand is getting closer and closer
Inches away now
Covered in disappointment should it touch you
And you scream
“Don’t you dare touch me you little urchin!
Just get away from me!”
The murmur stops
The polite conversation
All eyes mark you
Tears fill the eyes of the child
She opens her mouth to shriek
The mother looks at you desperately
But you can’t help screaming
“Don’t touch me!
Don’t touch me!
Don’t touch me!
Don’t touch me!”

Bing!

The elevator chimes, and you blink.
You’re not covered in sucker guck
The children are clinging quietly to their mother
Who is the picture of sophistication
On “Bring Your Kids to Work” Day
But you’ve reached the seventeenth floor without incident
Unless you count nearly screaming at a child
Who maybe only slightly deserved it
Your inhaler is indenting your sweaty palm
Making a crease
The doors open, some get in
Some get out, the doors close
And you continue your ascent to the life-changing meeting

You’re going to make it
To your meeting
Without even needing your inhaler, perhaps.
It would be the first elevator trip in a long time
That you didn’t have to suck in the acrid taste
Of albuterol

You hear a voice near you
Somehow familiar
It’s coming from the man in the $4,000 suit
His silver hair shines in the fluorescent lights
Swept back from his forehead
In a style that only the very wealthy
And very politically-connected can get away with
His skin is unusually tight over his face
But you can’t see the lines of a facelift
His surgeon is too good to have left a mark
It is the man
The one you need
You are in the elevator with him
You’ve never met him
But you recognize the voice
From your brief phone conversations
During which you tried not to let your anxiety
Hope
Determination
Desperation
Show through to the man
Here he is!
And he is speaking to another aging tycoon beside him
About someone he is meeting with this morning
He can’t remember his name
But he sounds like a young fellow
Hungry and desperate for his slice of American pie
Their voices are amused as they discuss
The young entrepreneur with the big ideas

Your hands grow sweaty
Your inhaler digs deeper into your palm
You close your eyes and start bargaining with God
Not me
Please don’t let them be talking about me
But then the man remembers the name
He speaks it out loud
It is your own
The poor young man doesn’t have a chance in hell, he says
But it looks good to the powers that be to listen to him

Where is the elevator bell?
Shouldn’t there be a Bing! by now?
Nope – they just keep talking
And talking
And talking
About you and your hopes and your dreams
Like they don’t matter
Like they aren’t real!

How dare they!
This can’t be happening!
Bing, damn it!  Bing!

The voices continue above the polite babble
And the subject has moved on
To lunch – where do they want to go?
That new place opened up
And someone said it was quite good

You catch your eye in the mirror
There are terrified eyes staring back at you
Your lungs tighten
You can’t breathe!
Your inhaler comes to your lips
You trigger
And life and air flows into your lungs
Your head swims
Your eyes dim
You are sliding down as the elevator shoots upward
To certain doom and despair

Bing!

Your inhaler is still clutched in your hand
Your head is still swimmy
The man is still in front of you
Stepping off the elevator
You have reached the 21st floor

Was it real?
As you step off the elevator
You look at your perfectly pressed pants
Atop your sparkling shoes
And you notice
A tiny speck of lint
Held on to a pinstripe
By a small
Gummy
Bit of sucker.