To quote Oklahoma State Coach Mike Gundy, “I’m a man, I’m 40.” Well, okay, I’m a few days shy of 50, but, well, the point is, I do have years of experience in getting out of tight spots. I have never been trapped inside a canyon like the guy that had to amputate his arm (see movie, “127 Hours”). I have not lined up to kick a 50-yard field goal on the game’s final play with the outcome in jeopardy. And any smart thief would know better than to waste their time holding me hostage for ransom, so that one is inconceivable.
I did have a cruise control stick on me once, but fortunately I was not in heavy traffic and managed to resolve that situation without further incident. Whenever I decide to use the cruise today, I always consider my escape route should it reoccur. (Yes, I have changed vehicles since then.)
Nevertheless, until earlier this month, I had never been stuck in an elevator. Without disclosing the exact location, let’s just say it was in downtown Little Rock.
I punched my floor number and felt the elevator move. I didn’t know how far it had traveled when it stopped. I’ve seen long delays in some elevators, but 15 seconds go by and, well, nothing. My floor’s light was no longer lit. I tapped the floor button again and the lights blinked on and off, this time for good. I am no expert on the inner workings of elevators, but I’m confident in my assumption that blinking lights are never a good thing while on one.
I tapped the Open Door button. Nothing. No big deal, I figured. Just go to the other set of buttons on the other side of the door. I tapped Open Door. I tapped Close Door. I tapped my floor, and like some child, I began tapping practically every floor as if one would magically work.
Still nothing.
I do not have a panic nature about me, but I was in pre-panic mode. I opened the metal door at the bottom and saw the word "Emergency," but did not see a phone. I didn’t really look very hard for a phone as I closed the door and thought, well, this is a busy place, and surely someone will figure out soon that the elevator is stuck. I kept that thought for about, oh, six to eight seconds.
That’s when I saw the alarm button. Up to this point in my life, I had never punched an alarm button. Had I done so as a kid out of mischief, my parents would have found out and the consequences just wouldn’t have been worth it. And, quite frankly, I had avoided any situation at 49 years and 50 weeks old that kept me from doing so as an adult. I’d say the closest thing I ever did was as a high school track judge for a state meet once I was the one that raised the foul flag when runners exchanged the baton out of their designated zone.
Perhaps my biggest reason for not sounding the alarm within the first four minutes or so of my elevator incarceration is a problem I have with worrying how silly I’ll look if the incident was either, one, a minor problem soon to be fixed, or two, something that had gone wrong due to my error. I did a quick check again of everything and surmised that all I am supposed to do is punch a button, the elevator goes to that floor, and the door is supposed to open.
So I tapped the alarm button, which I realized was nothing more than a buzzer. So I tapped it again. I tapped it a third and fourth time, each one for a count or two longer than the previous tap.
I heard no voices. I felt no movement. I did, however, have a flashback to some old movie scene where the elevator crashed following a free fall from several stories above. It was at this point I figured it was time to discard my fear of looking silly. I went to the door and pried my fingers into the gap enough to get it rolling, quite frankly to my surprise. It opened enough for me to see it was at a floor, four floors shy of my desired destination, but a floor nonetheless. I exited the elevator with cheetahesque quickness.
Upon reliving my story back at the office to Jay Edwards, he asked if I had walked down the stairs to return to my vehicle.
Walk down 20-something flights of stairs, with other elevators available? Why, that would just be silly.