Decent Into Hell

Beer buzzed and giddy from watching the Fourth of July fireworks display from the rooftop of Elliott Bay Plaza, a group of friends and I stumbled into the elevator bound for Brett and Angie’s apartment on the third floor. After joking about being too near the maximum weight restriction, the nine of us crowded in and began our decent. With a gut sickening jolt, the car suddenly slammed to a stop. And the door did not open. The person nearest the control panel began pressing buttons. The tiny vestibule did not move.

Oh. My. God.

I was stuck. Trapped in a tiny car with no air crammed against eight other people. I fought the panic rising in my chest as the guys first tried to force the door open to no avail and then picked up the red emergency phone to call for help. My breathing became shallow and tears filled my eyes. I needed to get out. My coffin-mates laughed and joked about having to pee in empty beer bottles. Couldn’t they see that this was it? The end? We would soon suffocate or plummet to our deaths.

Five minutes passed. Apparently the elevator company was on the way. Ten more minutes passed. My chest hurt. I was seeing spots. There was no air. I struggled to force oxygen into my lungs. Stewart insisted to the rational part of my brain that there was air in the elevator, coming in through cracks everywhere. The irrational claustrophobia that had consumed my body did not believe him. Tears were streaming down my face. My legs were shaky and weak.

25 minutes in and several more phone calls. Everyone was yelling, banging on the walls. I wanted to tear my hair out. I couldn’t breath. I was sitting on the floor, head between my knees, hyperventilating and crying hysterically. I vaguely remember someone on a cell phone telling the fire department that some people were beginning to “freak out.” Stewart pressed a cold beer can against my head in an attempt to calm me. It was 1,000 degrees. The elevator in the shaft next to our death trap mocked us with cheerful little bings as it let people on and off on various floors.

More than 30 minutes after the door had closed, a noise. I looked up in desperation and thank you Jesus, the door was being forced open. Five feet up, several firefighters reached their glorious arms out to save me from my hellish nightmare. Someone pushed me forward and I was pulled out into a cool hallway full of glorious clean air. I was so thankful to be alive, I forgot to even notice if the firefighters were cute or not. I had been to hell and back, and survived.

Note to self: Under all circumstances, opt for the stairs. I could use the exercise, anyway.