Elevated Terror: One Girl’s Shocking True Story

Published October 16, 2007

What do you do when you’re stuck in an elevator?

Oddly enough, I had considered this question long before it actually happened to me. I have a mild fascination with confined spaces. For years whenever I got on an elevator that seemed to take a bit longer than it should to reach my floor my heart would leap with the hope that I would be able to experience the adventure that came with being trapped. I plotted out elaborate escape routes, planning exactly how I would climb up to and break open the little hatch door on the ceiling.

My daydreams never got much further than that since my elevator trips never really took that long. It was just as well though; even in my imagination I don’t have the arm strength to pull myself up an elevator power cord.

Then the day finally came.

Sadly, I had made certain assumptions in my daydreams on which real life did not come through for me. The chief assumption was that, even if I did wind up just sitting in the elevator waiting for help, I wouldn’t be scared.

When I say that I didn’t think I would be afraid I don’t mean that I was suddenly terrified of the notion of being trapped in a small space. I’m not claustrophobic; I actually think small spaces are comforting. I also don’t mean that I became scared that a key cord would snap and I would plummet to a terrible, PG-13 doom. I was stuck between the third and fourth floors and was not any more concerned about that Hollywood twist than the possibility that a robot from the future might appear and try to hunt me down. In other words I was worried but only a little bit. My real fear was much more paralyzing: the fear to press THE button.

The button I’m speaking of is the Forbidden Button, the Red Button, the button that is sometimes encased in glass just to reinforce just how bad an idea it would be to push it; basically, that button you press to call the local fire department when the elevator gets stuck. Ever since I had been old enough to punch in what floor I was going to I had been aware of that button and mildly terrified that I might accidentally press it. I stared at the button, my face a a mixture of fear and awe.

Was I sure I was stuck? Maybe it always took half an hour to get to the ground floor.

Another ten minutes passed. Alright, I was definitely stuck. My rations (the battery power in my C.D. player) were low. It was now or, well, waiting until someone noticed the elevator wasn’t working. I reached out with my shaking finger…

I’m not sure what I was so afraid would happen, an explosion maybe? Blaring sirens? The sudden appearance of someone from Silent Hill? Instead, there was a brief static-y noise and then the heart-warming sound of the fire department telling me they were on their way. I would just have to wait another ten minutes…

When they finally arrived and opened the door it turned out that I was half-way between two floors. They had to lift me up to the landing. As they did one of the firemen said he was surprised at how calm I was. I smiled but was secretly gloating. After all, why wouldn’t I be calm? I’d been planning for this for years.

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