Ever been stuck in an elevator? Oh, it’s loads of fun. Especially when you add to the mix an anxious mom (me) two scared boys and a husband who is acting like nothing is even wrong. Good times.
We went to Baltimore for a few days. We got there Monday evening and had a full day yesterday. Went to the aquarium, toured some war ships, ate some really great seafood, took a water taxi, went swimming in hotel pool, took naps. It was so nice. Until, THE EVENT.
We were leaving the hotel yesterday evening to see the game at Camden Yards. As we all got into the elevator (on the 19th floor, might I add), my husband realized he forgot something. He and I both pressed a button at the same time to try to open the doors before we moved. But it was too late. We started moving. Then we stopped moving. Then my heart stopped moving. Actually, my heart raced so fast it only felt like it stopped moving.
Oh, did I mention that getting stuck in an elevator is up there in my top 3 fears in life?
Anyway, we looked to see what floor we were on and all it show us was “- -”. That’s when we knew we were in trouble. Somehow I ended up in charge of this disaster. Me, the anxious one. Probably because I was next to the buttons. Somehow, I calmed myself down and pressed the call button and the alarm button. The woman came on and we could hear her but she couldn’t hear us. After several attempts, we made contact. She asked what floor we were on, which we estimated was somewhere around 17.
Meanwhile, my 7-year old, who is more alike me in his anxious ways than I care to admit, started getting really upset. Fortunately for me, both boys were yelling at daddy, blaming him for what happened (even though I was equally to blame — if that is what even caused the elevator to stop). I, the anxious mom, had to hide my fear and tell my boys that we would be fine and they’d get us out. Hubs was just saying, “everybody calm down.” Big help.
So Katie, the security woman on the other end of the speaker thingy, got somebody up to the floor to figure out where we were. It turns we were stuck between 16 and 17. Fab! So, now we have Joe outside talking to us. He said they tried to “reboot” the elevator but it didn’t work. Next up: the fire trucks.
So, we’ve got Joe outside the doors and Katie on the phone keeping us updated every step of the way. By some miracle of God, I remained calm(ish) and focused on keeping the kids calm. My helpful husband was already calm and didn’t see what the big deal was. I kept telling the boys to think of it as an adventure and that how they’d have something to write about in their journals when they got back to school. They didn’t seem excited by either of those two ideas.
My scared 7-year old was saying things like, “Are we gonna die in here?” “Does it hurt to die of starvation?” “Daddy, I can’t believe you did that!!!” My scared, but calmer 9-year old, just kept saying, “Dad, why did you do that?!!” (Okay, we’re all being hard on daddy. He did pick 7-year old up and comfort him when he got really upset. He was a little helpful.)
So… after about 30 really, really, really long minutes of looking at the lovely marble elevator floors (it could have been worse, I suppose) and the lovely faces of my family, the brave men of the Baltimore Fire Department pried open the doors.
Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we’re free at last!
We’re out and I hug Joe. Now on floor 16, we head back into a different elevator (I mean, we’re not gonna spend our night on the 16th floor). The kids were NOT thrilled with this. But now we’re stuffed in the elevator with the fire dudes who rescued us. We felt slightly safer. Though, I supposed if we got stuck again, and the guys who got us out were now on the inside, we’d be screwed.
Mercifully, we made it to the lobby. Katie was there with ice pops for the boys, and they had a cab out front waiting to take us to the game.
Okay, we’re out. We’re free, and so is our transportation to the game. All is well. Everything else the rest of the night was beautiful to me: The long lines to get into the game; the disgusting stadium food; the fact that we were all freezing our asses off; my 9-year old complaining every step of the way. It was all beautiful to me. After being freed from elevator, nothing was gonna bring me down.
Wine for me, candy for the boys and chocolate covered strawberries for… well, me also.
The boys were scared to go to sleep last night. But I simply rejoiced in the fact that I lived through such adventure/nightmare with a story to tell.
The moral of this story: don’t mess around with the buttons in the elevator.
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