Self-Love in an Elevator

Hmmm... studying my bottle of Nestea I mistook "Ca garde au frais" to be "Ca garde au farts". Although the original phrase translates to "Keep in a cool place" I interpreted my mistake to mean "This guards against farts". Which, as you might know, would be entirely necessary for me.

Mmmmmm...

So kids, I hate to drag you away from all the trauma being spilled out from the freshly-reopened wound -- namely, the birth of Britney Spear's second child -- but I simply have to relate my latest tale of woe. For you see, last night, for over an hour, I was...

...TRAPPED IN AN ELEVATOR!

Gasp and horror!

Yep, there I was, with two nubile and gorgeous young woman, trapped in a confine space. To make matters even worse, I was on my way to have a cigarette when the elevator crapped out. Have you been in an elevator when it goes CHUGGACHUGGACHUGGA then drops a foot and bounces? Of course not, this kind of stupid shit only happens to me.

So what can you do when something like this happens? You press the help button and find out the person on the other end is in Connecticut, and thus can't dial 911 on your behalf. The joy of outsourcing!

As it turns out, one of two girls (I seriously wasn't kidding about the girls) has as her major phobia dying in an elevator crash. Naturally, she was beside herself. Luckily, her friend was there to calm her down. As they remarked later, it was a good thing the level-headed gal was there otherwise the other girl would have ended up peeing herself in the corner. I almost took offense at this subtle attack on my commanding and soothing manliness, but then shrugged when I realized it was true.

So what to do for an hour? Well, they had a cellphone and phoned their friends. It turned out the two girls were RAs, so every other RA was crowded around the elevator door soon after. Thus began the eerie affair of using a cellphone to communicate with people who we were only kept separate from by a steel door. The once-anxious RA started to draw a crayon picture of the affair. I was rather flattered by the amount of hair she gave my portrait.

Anyways, the elevator people (from Otis -- what the hell kind of name for a company is that?) soon fixed the problem and we found ourselves in the basement. Apparently I was the only student to ever set foot there... but at what staggering emotional cost?

Free! I was free! God, to be away from the two absolutely stunning women who, as was casually mentioned, weren't wearing any underwear! To have my cigarette! To fill my lungs with nicotine!

During the time I was trapped in the elevator, it had begun to downpour.

Well, fuck.