Elevators scare the hell out of me. I don’t even know why. I’m not claustrophobic- I actually quite enjoy small, tight spaces (not the spelunking type, though)- so it’s not the common reason typically associated with fears of elevators.
I’m not scared of getting trapped on one either. To my knowledge, it’s never happened to me, so it’s not like I’m operating on prior fears. And I can’t recall ever witnessing something in Final Destination or some other equally paranoia-driven franchise that would inspire my lifelong determent of them. As long as I didn’t have to pee, I probably wouldn’t be anything other than bored if I were to ever get trapped in one.
Still, I take the stairs whenever I can. Last year I did several flights up and down a day just to avoid getting on my dorm’s elevator. I’ve never had to walk more than a few flights, but if it were ever anything significant, I’d probably try to rationalize walking twenty-seven flights of stairs if it meant avoiding an elevator. At least it means I’m healthy.
That was not an option today. While looking for a small little place trapped inside a huge Hilton hotel, I noticed there was an absolute lack of stairs. The escalators were all marked off, no doubt due to the various renovations and repairs going on. It was almost dizzying how huge that place was; I almost felt like I was wandering around a level of Anemoiapolis or something. It didn’t help that there wasn’t hardly anyone around. That makes sense, since I really doubt vacation-goers would be up at eight in the morning anyway, but I would’ve appreciated some company. The longest stretch of hallway I wandered was this expanse of carpeted floors, fluorescent lights, and not a soul in sight. The music crackling over the speakers did nothing to assuage my fears.
Then came the elevator. At the very end of the long carpeted courtyard were two presumably Otis model elevators- I used to watch elevator maintenance videos for fun during the time I binged USCSB videos and paternoster facts, so I should know. As if the music and the desolation weren’t already eerie enough, one of the elevators was already open.
It freaked me the hell out. No way was I getting on this thing. My first assumption was that it was actually out of order, especially since I kept seeing yellow tape and sorry signs all over everything on the walk there, so I starts looking for some stairs thinking I’d have to take them, anyway. I have to say, it seems like a real OSHA-worthy safety hazard that there weren’t any stairs in sight. I’m not kidding when I say I didn’t see a single staircase there the whole time, which seems like a bad idea in a huge hotel packed with people.
Anyway, I hopped on in and selected the button for the sixth floor, and then gripped the railing as I waited for…nothing. The elevator didn’t move. I started freaking out thinking it was broken, until the automated voice started assaulting me with messages. “DOOR CLOSING,” which it only said after I promptly hopped right off of it. “GOING UP,” “DOOR OPENING,” “SIXTH FLOOR,” “DOOR CLOSING,” and it just came in rapid succession, one right after the other. It didn’t even give itself time to breathe.
That’s what unnerved me the most. It was this voice calling into the abyss, just me and no one else around. The thing groaned and eventually moved after a moment, and I grippe the handrail even tighter. It’s always my first instinct to move to the bar and hold it tight, but this ride was accompanied by my heart about to leap out from behind my thyroid.
The doors opened, and I promptly scurried the hell off, pointedly ignoring the fact that the elevator was still moving even after the doors opened. The lift was still there even after my brief fifteen minute appointment, but now that I was no longer hounded by nerves over potentially being late, I was a bit more at ease this time around.
Still, I could hear through the shaft the sound of the automated voice again, illegibly shouting something to the empty car. When I got back on this time, I tried not to get too uneased by the taped over, broken button right below mine, and even more intently tried to ignore the doors sliding closed with the announcement, “GOING DOWN.”
It’s just an announcement, just a fact, but that phrase still bothers me immensely. I have no reason to be scared, but the voice really outlined why I’m so averse to elevators. Going down is only desired to a certain extent, but please, don’t let me go down further. Let me go to my floor and not any lower than that. Let me be back on solid ground. When I was a child, I had a small fear of heights. I feel dizzy when I’m not on the ground. Perhaps this is a remainder of that, that I’m just scared of an unexpected fall.
These things come with safety mechanisms to ensure that doesn’t happen. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if those measures would fail just for me.
I’m proud, though. I rode two whole elevators today of my own volition. Even still, I like being on solid ground. I think I prefer the stairs.
HAPPY 