donger need food.

Going up?

After tonight's workout, I decided to stop by the storage unit to drop off the (kick ass) line trimmer/weed whacker that's been sitting in my trunk since Saturday shedding grass all over the carpet. Punch the code into the gate, park, pop the trunk, get out the weed whacker. Keys? Check. Phone? Nah, I'll only be a minute. Walk to the double doors, fighting the urge to shiver in the chilly autumn evening air, armed only with a pair of black gym shorts and two T shirts. Punch "^" on the elevator. Step into the shiny steel diamond plate-lined conveyance and depress the plastic switch labeled "2". It lights up with authority. Motors whine, and I'm off. Few seconds later, the elevator stops with a loud "BAM" and a slight drop. Oh shit. Ummmm...evaluate my options. Scream like a bitch? Nah, stay cool...press the alarm bell -- I think I saw another car outside, someone must be loading up somewhere. No luck. OK, cool...there's a phone. Pick it up, depress and hold the button. Some lady is talking through some record message -- "Hold button, you will be connected in thirty seconds; release button and you will be disconnected". Over and over again. And over and over again. Hrmph....I'm sitting here, listening to this crap, running mental images of that scene from Speed: you know, the overhead shot of the group in the elevator, showing them panic as the elevator falls. I hate falling. I mean I really hate falling. My younger brother and Dad laughed their asses off watching me turn purple on the parachute ride at Knotts Berry Farm when I was 13.

Anyways...the phone finally rings, and wouldn't you know it: "We're sorry, the number you have dialed is incorrect or is no longer in use. Please try again". GREAT. Got-damn*t-f(*@(*#^$*(&!^(*&@#)(*&!@#. So I hold down the alarm bell...nothing. I yell..."help? HEEEEELP?!?!" Still nothing. Why da hell didn't I bring my stupid-van-damn-freakin' phone?!?!?

Grrr...Press 1. Press 2. Nothing. Door Open. Nothing. Pull emergency stop, humming stops. Release emergency stop, and suddenly as fast as the elevator stopped, it moves again! Woo hoo!!! With a big sigh of relief I step off onto the second floor and drop off the weed whacker.

Needless to say, I took the stairs on the way down.
And the stairs again up to my apartment. :)

You know, I wonder...now that I'm living alone...how long would it take for someone to notice that I was missing?

I'm guessing a week?

posted by VirtualErn @ 8:00 PM

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