The Elevator Gods Hate Me

Oooh not again! Not again! NOT AGAIN!!!

Only me... Only Amanda could have such evil luck...

Today at work I got a call that a childhood friend of mine is in the hospital. Apparently she's been having some sort of stomach or digestive problem. Probably too much beer. (Ok. That was uncalled for.) Another friend and I agreed to meet after work to pay her a short visit.

First of all, I hate hospitals. With a passion. An intense,overwhelming, incurable passion. I hate the smell. I hate the fluorescent lighting. I hate the two-month old magazines. I hate the waiting and the waiting and the waiting. They reek of illness and death. They suck the cheer out of me. Any happiness found in a hospital is confined to a small corner of a single floor where babies and new life are kept hidden away from the general public. Instead visitors are welcomed by the overwhelming stench of end-of-life services and dying flowers, sadness, and stale coffee. No one ever leaves a hospital looking happy.

I hate hospitals. Did I mention that?

I hate elevators even more.

When I'm in a hospital elevator I become -well- a mess. The tow together do not bode well with me. I have (Or had, rather. But I'm getting to that...) an ever so slight fear of elevators. I wouldn't even classify it as a fear, really. I'm not scared of heights. (Hell I'm 5'11") I'm VERY SLIGHTLY claustrophobic but that is not at all the problem with me. It's the swaying of the lift... the thought of cables breaking... Eek!!

This little "fear" of mine is not without good reason. To begin with I'm a HUMAN. My feet belong on something solid like -oh let's say- the stairs!!! A good ole fashion fear or phobia is usually the result of -well- something happening to you. Repetitively. (Not always...) Well... Something did happen to me. Repetitively...

Since the age of eight I've been stuck in an elevators a grand total of three times in my life. Three!! Over the last year or so I've had to kind of get over it. My grandpa has been in and out of hospitals and -well- I really had no choice. Anyway...

I agreed to get in the elevator with my friend as long as we were the only two people. The same elevator that trapped me in it's jaws last fall. So we got in the germ-ridden thing. Yipee. Several seconds passed and wow!! I thought we were going to get lucky. Umm... WRONG!!! Just as the door was about to shut a man in a business suit stuck his arm in to stop the door. Damn. The lift swayed. I automatically calculated his weight. We were obviously well below the 2,000 lbs. limit.

And to think... we could've made it...

But in waddled (sorry they did) two people who put us right at the weight limit. This time the lift not only swayed. It shook.

I suppressed every instinct I had to keep from bolting. I gripped the railing, attempted to breath a little deeper, and I let the double doors shut with a soft ding! I was doing well... Until the elevator lurked and came to a grinding (and I do mean grinding) halt maybe eight feet up.

So, yes. I was stuck for the fourth time in my life in an elevator. I imagine this is punishment for splurging at lunch today. I could've worked off one calorie by climbing the stairs. Bus still, I don’t think it was really necessary to be stuck there with one guy who thought he was really funny (he wasn’t, not even to my quirky sense of humor), a guy who snorted constantly, pulled out a cigarette and a Slim Jim (even I knew we wouldn't be there long enough to starve)  and a woman who laughed incessantly and also made jokes (she wasn’t funny, either).

[I'll take this opportunity to give a message to everyone stuck in a small space with people you don’t know:  You aren’t funny.  I don’t care if you are a professional comedian doing very well for yourself.  If you are stuck in an elevator with me, do me a favor and keep your wit to yourself. And don't smoke!! Thanks!!]

We were in there for maybe forty-five minutes. I never thought I'd be happy the inhale the ammonia-reeking corridors of a hospital. But I was!!!!! Oh yes I was!!!

I've made a pact with myself to never get on an elevator again. I don't care if I have no legs. (I can't see where this would ever be a problem. I don't plan on going into war, developing diabetes, or getting ran over by a train) I don't care if I have someone to grab me and hold me tight every time the doors shut like Josh did in Savannah. Sorry!!! I. Don't. Give. A. Shit.

No more elevators!!!