Somewhere between the 4th and 5th floors
Got stuck in an elevator last night—stuck up high between the 4th and 5th floors with two long carpets and my Carhardt jacket to keep me company. I was taking up the last items from the truck into the rest home.
I was already suspicious of the elevator, I had issues with it’s buttons which said G, 1, 2, 3, 4, PH. G obviously stood for Ground, though why ground wasn’t the same as 1 is beyond me—PH, for Pent House; like saying that it’s not just the 6th floor, it’s a little more fancy then that. As it slowly passed each floor a buzzer would sound—not a bell, not a melodious voice saying “three” but the type of buzz you might hear when entering a 7-11. This clearly was a self-important elevator, with twenty four small recessed lights in it’s ceiling because when you’re that important, 18 is just not enough, and self important elevators should be entered with a degree of caution.
It also wasn’t an Otis. There are only a handful of elevator companies I can think of…ok, well there’s only one. This one was a Thyssonkrup, and while it’s website proudly boasts “ThyssenKrupp Elevator is the world’s premier manufacturer, installer and service provider of vertical and horizontal transportation technology.” I wasn’t nearly as impressed. I will say this however, I was able to use my cell phone, which was nice, as I could call up all my friends and say “guess where I am?” but also the emergency telephone thingie worked just fine…after a few tries. So within 20 minutes or so, the fire department arrived and not long after that, the Thyssonkrup elevator technician.
Although they were able to open the door and look in at me, they decided that the best course of action was to lower me down “manually” but what that meant exactly they didn’t say. As I was wondering weather or not that was going to involve some sort of block and tackle set up, I felt the elevator begin it’s slow long decent to G. From start to finish the whole process took just under an hour…not that bad I guess. I had been hoping they would have to take me out through the ceiling and through the elevator shaft up some rickety fire-department ladder, but so much for romantic notions. Instead I was dropped to the ground floor like a deflating birthday balloon.
I had had a while to think about what I might say as I exited the elevator and had my comment all ready. “I’ve never been stuck in an Otis elevator before.” I would quip, and when he pointed out that this wasn’t an Otis elevator, but a Tyssonkrup, I would smugly say “yes, I know” but after the doors opened the only moments to use it would have sounded forced and snarky so I choked it down and went out to breath giant lung-fulls of cold night air.
I realized after having spent a little time in a box not much smaller than a McNiel Island Prison cell, that I could survive living in a cramped space like that. Well at least for the first hour…after that I think I’d lose my freaking mind.
I was already suspicious of the elevator, I had issues with it’s buttons which said G, 1, 2, 3, 4, PH. G obviously stood for Ground, though why ground wasn’t the same as 1 is beyond me—PH, for Pent House; like saying that it’s not just the 6th floor, it’s a little more fancy then that. As it slowly passed each floor a buzzer would sound—not a bell, not a melodious voice saying “three” but the type of buzz you might hear when entering a 7-11. This clearly was a self-important elevator, with twenty four small recessed lights in it’s ceiling because when you’re that important, 18 is just not enough, and self important elevators should be entered with a degree of caution.
It also wasn’t an Otis. There are only a handful of elevator companies I can think of…ok, well there’s only one. This one was a Thyssonkrup, and while it’s website proudly boasts “ThyssenKrupp Elevator is the world’s premier manufacturer, installer and service provider of vertical and horizontal transportation technology.” I wasn’t nearly as impressed. I will say this however, I was able to use my cell phone, which was nice, as I could call up all my friends and say “guess where I am?” but also the emergency telephone thingie worked just fine…after a few tries. So within 20 minutes or so, the fire department arrived and not long after that, the Thyssonkrup elevator technician.
Although they were able to open the door and look in at me, they decided that the best course of action was to lower me down “manually” but what that meant exactly they didn’t say. As I was wondering weather or not that was going to involve some sort of block and tackle set up, I felt the elevator begin it’s slow long decent to G. From start to finish the whole process took just under an hour…not that bad I guess. I had been hoping they would have to take me out through the ceiling and through the elevator shaft up some rickety fire-department ladder, but so much for romantic notions. Instead I was dropped to the ground floor like a deflating birthday balloon.
I had had a while to think about what I might say as I exited the elevator and had my comment all ready. “I’ve never been stuck in an Otis elevator before.” I would quip, and when he pointed out that this wasn’t an Otis elevator, but a Tyssonkrup, I would smugly say “yes, I know” but after the doors opened the only moments to use it would have sounded forced and snarky so I choked it down and went out to breath giant lung-fulls of cold night air.
I realized after having spent a little time in a box not much smaller than a McNiel Island Prison cell, that I could survive living in a cramped space like that. Well at least for the first hour…after that I think I’d lose my freaking mind.
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