That’s the view from my office. It makes me smile every single time I remember to look out a window.
Normally, it’s fun working in the sky, but today I got stuck in an elevator between the 34th and 35th floors for 30 minutes on my way home. You’d think I would have thought to take, oh I don’t know, PICTURES, but alas that is not top of mind when fight or flight kicks in — which I guess is a good thing.
Today, I learned that I’m really calm when stuck in an elevator — even after it drops 2-3 floors, then tries to go back up the other direction but jolts to a stop. My boss (who was in the elevator with me, along with a painter who is sprucing up our office) did not have the same reaction.
Fibs she told the security guard over the intercom as she was ranting about the ‘stupid’ elevators:
- There are 17 people in here! (Three.)
- Okay, there are only three, but two of us have asthma! (No one has asthma.)
- There’s no air! It’s so hot! (It was fine.)
- I’m busting out the ceiling – this is your five-minute warning! (Actually, she probably wasn’t lying about this one.)
The painter and I just made jokes and waited to be rescued (by what I was hoping would be a terribly handsome fireman who would take one look at me and fall madly in love… sadly, this did not happen. #sadface )
Instead, I had to be hoisted up three feet (in what I can only describe as a terribly awkward cheerleading move) by two men who, combined, probably only weighed a little more than me. The nice Painterman did a squat and interlaced his fingers for a “step” to help lift me out of the elevator, while one of the (cute) security guards took both my hands to help pull me up.
It sort of worked. Enough for me to smash my shin into the corner of the 35th floor, anyway.
At this point, I would like to remember myself as doing a swift tuck-and-roll out of the elevator, and popping effortlessly to my feet in front of the three looky-loos from the 35th floor and finishing it off with a curtsey… but I’m pretty sure I just crawled a few feet then did the big-girl-twist to get off the floor. Either way, I’m just incredibly thankful that my pants didn’t split open in the process.
After finally getting to the ground floor (via a different elevator) I realized that what would have mortified me 5 years ago, is something I can’t stop laughing about now. Seriously. It’s taken me an hour to write this because I can’t stop laughing! I think my abs are the real winners of today’s shenanigans.
I’m not sure if it’s some new level of self acceptance I didn’t know I had inside me, or if I was just so happy to be rescued that I didn’t care. Either way, I’m feeling pretty good right now — but this experience still makes me want to kick my weight-loss into high gear. I hope I never get a chance at a repeat performance, but if for some reason it happens again… I’d like to be able to easily tuck-and-roll.
Have you ever had a weight-related fear ‘come true’? Was it as bad as you thought it would be?
PS: The car we were in is labeled, H, which I have jokingly called the Hellevator for the past 5 years. I guess I had this coming. :)
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