Bookland Fiction: Elevators

I hate elevators. Hate them, hate them, hate them!

Every time I get into an elevator, I become completely paranoid. Not just your run of the mill, average kind of paranoid, we're talking about borderline, psychotic type paranoid!

Especially when there are more than five people in the elevator with me. It's like some kind of magic number, knowing there are more than five. But think about it, if five is really bad, what about ten? I can't even breathe in an elevator with ten people in it—true story.

I can just feel all the other bodies surrounding me until I'm in this totally enervated ball of pure, unadulterated claustrophobic paranoia. My God in Heaven, there are ten persons in this elevator—what can we all be thinking to have all gotten in here together like this? I sometimes want to ask every other person in the elevator with me if they get nervous when they get in too, or if it's really just me, but I'm not really sure I want to know. Maybe it's better not to ask, don't you think?

Every time I get into an elevator it's like a little light goes on in my head--the light of dread. What if this thing stops? What if I'm stuck in here with all these people? How do I know what kind of people I'm in here with? I mean, look at that one over there? I could swear that guy must have drugs on him, and what about her? I bet that bitch is the kind who whines under pressure, one of those loud, piercing whines that never stops and makes you want to slap her silly!

So, what if there's ten of us in here and all the sudden the power goes out and we're all in here in the dark? Total, black, darkness? Me and ten other people. God, it's like the worst nightmare on earth, just thinking about it.

What if we're in here so long we have to go to the bathroom? What if we're in here so long we have to go to sleep and we're packed in so tight we can't even lay down? I can't go to sleep without getting into like the perfect position, half on my back and half on my right side, with one leg bent at just the right angle so my underwear don't bunch up.

I hate when my underwear bunch up. Oh, wow, can you imagine being trapped in the elevator and having no room to unbunch your underwear? I'd rather just die and get it over with, you know?

Ok, so what if I'm trying to unbunch my underwear, and I'm in front of some perverted guy who gets all horny when he sees me touching my butt and rubs up against me or grabs me or something? And there's no way to get away from him because—hello— we're stuck in this God-forsaken-elevator-from-Hell---!!!?

So, what could I do? I suppose I could tell the other people the perve is trying to grab me, but then what? How are they supposed to stop him when none of us can move? And how do I know they aren't all perves too, and they'd all decide to just watch instead of help?

Or worse yet, what if one of the passengers is a serial killer who goes nuts under the pressure and starts offing everyone in the elevator one by one and then he and I are the only two left and it turns out he's also the pervert who was behind me getting all horny, and now that he killed all those people he's even hornier? But I can't tell if he is going to rape me or kill me, or both, so my adrenaline is pumping like there's no tomorrow and he's coming toward me, and right when SOMETHING out of the ordinary is going to happen for once in my relatively uneventful life, the stupid elevator moves again and the cops come arrest him and all I get out of the whole thing is a trip downtown where I have to sit around drinking coffee and answering endless questions, when I could have stayed home and watched a movie.

Damn, I hate elevators. Hate them, hate them, hate them.

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