Stuck in the elevator with James

Stuck in an elevator with James

I was going to have to finally admit to my fear of those high rise elevators To accept the government refund cheque I would have to appear in person at their reception area on the twentieth floor. At my age there is no way that I will be able to walk up twenty flights of stairs and, naturally, return the same way, so I will have to face up to the trial of getting into the elevator car and then riding up to floor twenty.

As with the rest of the government buildings in this city it is run down. The lack of capacity or perhaps it is a willingness to collect income taxes has finally resulted in the dilapidation of most of the public buildings through both neglect and the poor economic conditions. I am certainly concerned about the ongoing safety of them through this process of benign neglect. Just the other day something fell from one of the downtown buildings and demolished a car parked in the street. It was fortunate that it happened during the afternoon siesta hour with the result that the streets were deserted at the time. In any event little concern was publicly shown. Self preservation of self being the major activity here.

Today the siesta is over and the city is starting to return to life with a sun burning down on the baked streets. Tourists are returning to the markets and the locals are reopening their shops in the hope that the tourists dollars will help feed their families. I make my way carefully across the street from where I parked the rented car and look up at the dirty white and pink high rise known locally as Tax Haven Centre. I have faithfully reported and paid my taxes for the past ten years that I have worked here but the last year has been a major struggle resulting in financial loss. I have managed to work out a settlement with the Tax Haven authorities and today I am to receive a refund of taxes, well that is my hope. But first the daunting ride in the elevator to the upper floors.

The doors are hanging off their hinges. The sleepy looking guards on either side of the doors greet all that go through without asking for any form of identification. They are at least employed but whether they are actually paid for the service is questionable. The temperature outside is an unbearable thirty five degrees Celsius and perhaps hotter inside because the air conditioning has broken down yet again. The open doors to the building aiding and abetting this particular process.

I make my way over to the elevator bank. A polite way of describing the two elevators that provides service to all of the upper floors of the building. The delivery speed of these two cabs has to be measured in hours not minutes, having a good book to read while passing time for them is particularly useful if you do not wish to become bored through inactivity. The lights above the elevator doors indicate that both cars are presently serving floors sixteen and nineteen respectively. I should be able to manage a chapter or two of my latest book while waiting for the return of one for means of ascendancy.

After ten minutes the elevator on the left side has descended and with a wheezing action the doors open and three people exit from the small interior. It is my turn. I enter the cab and notice that the mirror sides of the cab are cracked and do not appear to have been cleaned for several years. The accumulated debris on the cracked floor makes the cab resemble a garbage disposal unit than a mechanism to rise to a higher floor. Unlike most elevators this particular one is not automatic but requires an attendant to assist in its operation. Today’s operator has just exited from the car so I will have to await his return if the car is to be permitted to rise once more. Another chapter of the book can be read perhaps. If this continues I will be sorry that I did not take several books out of the library this morning.

Finally the elevator operator returns. He slowly makes himself comfortable on his dilapidated stool by the control panel. Fortunately I believe in making certain that my appointments are on time and had left myself with a considerable margin of time to get there by three o’clock but with all these interminable delays it is going to be nip and tuck if I am to get to the twentieth floor by that time.

Having arranged everything to his liking he advises that his name is James and that it is his pleasure to be my operator today, with that he thrust out his hand offering to shake mine. I nervously put mine in his and noticed with a degree of displeasure that his is wet and limp, I am going to need an additional shower after all these experiences today. Having gotten these preliminaries over with he asked where he can take me. I feel as though I am being provided with a very personal service that is part and parcel of being seated at an exclusive North American restaurant or club. Not what I have in mind today so the greeting comes as a surprise. I reply that I would be honored if he would take me to the twentieth floor. James grimaces as though this is a particular task that he would prefer to do without so immediately spoils the affect of the first greeting.

James goes on to say that my day is about to be spoiled as that floor is where the blood suckers of the Tax Haven reside, but it’s entirely up to me whether I wish to proceed. I advise that I would like to do so in some haste if he could co-operate. James advises that he would like to wait for a couple of minutes to see if any more passenger guests would like to go up the building with him. My patience wearing thin I mentioned to him that the building foyer was rather deserted and that it may therefore be some time before any further people had this particular desire so could we ascend. He became somewhat surly at this observation and said under his breath that people rush rush all the time and what was the sense in it. James pressed the number 20 on the panel combined with the door close button.

The geriatric doors closed together and with a shudder the car reluctantly started to make its way up the building with a swaying motion that provided a nauseous feeling within me. I had decided that it was perhaps best to concentrate on something within the elevator cab that would relieve me of the nervous thought that I was in a confined space and that we were progressing upwards as though in a Force Ten gale. I watched the floor numbers above the door indicating our very slow progress. We were at five and we were certainly not being powered by anything closely resembling the power used by NASA for its launch of the space shuttle.

The light next flickered against six and then went out altogether as the cab started to shake as though we were reentering the earth’s atmosphere. Total darkness as all ascendancy stopped and the cab lights went out. James started to wail and scream. So much for attendants who are supposed to assist the passengers. I slowly sank to the floor as my nerves were starting to fail me absolutely.

I could hear James talking into the elevator telephone with his fellow employee on the ground floor. He was advised that the electrical supply had been shut down and he had no idea of when it would return. From what he could tell we were between floors six and seven and there we would remain until the supply was returned. The building had no back up generator and was totally dependant on the fickle public service.

The cab had slowed to gentle sway now that the upwards movement had stopped. It felt sickening and all I could think about was the resemblance to being in some form of amusement park where people are known to spend their entertainment dollars to be thrown about, not something the elderly person really wants. My head was starting to swim and I was in need of some form of refreshment, especially as the heat inside the cab seemed to be increasing and the air becoming foul.
James was making some form of activity in the dark. After rustling around for a time suddenly the cab was bathed in a dull light. James has found an emergency light inside his control panel. I was particularly amazed that this particular asset should be still within the tool kit and not borrowed for his home. It was a relief to be able to see each other in this confined space although it was hardly changing the position that we were in.

James seemed to be a shade calmer now that we had light of a sort. He eyes were fixed to the floor and although he was chattering away about something or other he was unable to make eye contact with me. His incessant chattering was now starting to be an annoyance. The stale air was becoming rancid and I could smell his body odor. It was particularly offensive as the sweat in this heat and the obvious inattention to bathing of recent times was making me gag. When would it be possible to get out of this situation?

The telephone rang and James listened in.

After he put the phone down he relayed the position that we were in. He repeated three or four times that the electrical supply was cut off and that we trapped between floors six and seven. I know that we had established this with the original phone call and my facial expression was starting to indicate that repeating this particular fact for a fifth time may be extremely dangerous to his health.

I asked for a estimate of when we could either be rescued by getting out of the elevator on either floor six or floor seven or alternatively when the electrical supply could be expected to be resumed. This seemed to be beyond his comprehension. Meanwhile my original concern that I may be late for my appointment was now an insignificant one in that it was more my life that I was worried about.

I decided to take control and grabbed the telephone. It rang and rang. Where were James fellow workers? Finally someone called Fred picked it up. I put my questions to him and other than dead air there was no response. Action was not a part of the process here. Probably the thought of walking up the six flights of stairs was just too much for them all. I was going to have to calm down and accept that until the power supply was resumed I was to be terrorized with a long wait in a claustrophobic cab swaying over six stories from the ground. Not my favourite day in the tropics.