Once upon a time I got stuck in an elevator.
I decided to go and be productive and knock out a huge project in my American Studies class. So I grab a bag of nachos and my jar of cheese (which sounds really gross… jar? of cheese? sick…
Anyways… I walked down the 4th floor girls’ wing to the ancient, 100 year old OTIS elevator.. and press the down button. I walk in casually, like I always do. The old elevator whines and takes me down to 1st floor. I walk towards the door, expecting it to open. But, the door does not open. So, I calmly press the open button. And by calmly I mean slamming it like a champion trigger finger Carbine (Halo gun) wielder.
At this point I become impatient.
Then this crazy chick, Helena (pronounced H-uhhh-LAYYY-nuhhh), is slamming the button on the other side of the door. I sit down. Hearing the elevator move, she screams “WHO’S THERE?!?!”
So I’m just like “………………….Christina…”
She screams about how I’m stuck in the elevator and that I’m going to die. Then runs to get someone to help me.
I sat there for five minutes, eating my nachos contentedly. I’m an introvert, so the solitude of the creepy elevator let me contemplate the deep mysteries of life, like an INFJ would.
Then, just as they both return and Helena screams that she’s rescued me, the elevator door opens. I stand up, walk out, and don’t say a word.
What a pleasant adventure.