Small Spaces

I was asked this week if I was claustrophobic. It's an interesting question to be asked but in the context it made sense. I was getting ready for an MRI on my ankle (yes, I finally went in and am having it checked out after over a year of annoying but minor pain and tightness that just won't go away) and was asked this question. I said "no" without stopping to think. Granted, the MRI didn't even fully cover me since it was only on my ankle and I think I might have fallen asleep in the middle of it today. Goes to prove that I can really sleep through most anything (other than the annoying car alarms that go off frequently near our apartment, ugh!). However, it did remind me of a little story that I never got around to writing about.

This past summer I went on tour with my internship congregation's high school choir. We were hitting up the Northeast part of the country including Philly, NYC, and DC. I somehow also got put in charge of making the video of the tour which included taking footage throughout the entire to capture the good, bad, and ugly moments on the bus, touring, and in the various hotels. I took my job really seriously (because when have I been known to do anything halfway, well, not counting this semester of seminary) and stayed up later in the night in the hotel lobbies in order to rip the footage from the video camera onto my computer. It was tedious and it meant later nights but it was nice to have everything on the computer so I could reuse the tapes.

One night we were staying in a really nice place in DC. It was about 1 a.m. and I had finally finished ripping the stuff onto my computer! Thank goodness! It had been a long day of touring and travel and I had been behind so I had extra stuff above and beyond our marathon day of touring to put on my computer. I was tired and ready for bed. I patiently waiting for the elevator and then punched the "4" button and leaned up against the side of the elevator willing myself to stay away for this short ride. The doors shut and all of sudden the elevator lurched and the "4" was no longer lit nor was the elevator moving. I punched the "4" again. Nothing. I tried "1." Nothing.

Hmmm, another thing they don't teach us at seminary: what to do when you get trapped in an elevator on a youth retreat.

I sighed more annoyed than anything and pushed the call button. "Umm, yes, I stuck in the rightmost elevator. Can you please help?" The assured me they'd had me out of there at no time. Until then I was comforted knowing that there was only one floor underneath me so if the elevator were to fall it wouldn't be too bad.

I took a seat and was reminded of the movie "You've Got Mail" and wished for some good company. Shame it was 1 a.m. otherwise I could call someone and make a good story out of this. There's a fun phone call:
Hi!
Hi Tasha! How are you doing?
Good! Really good other than the fact I'm stuck in an elevator.
(Maybe I should just try that sometime just for fun)

Anyway, within 10 minutes they had gotten me out (the elevator just had to be reset, who knew that elevators needed to be reset) and I elected to take the stairs to my floor.

Moral of the story: Thank goodness I'm not claustrophobic otherwise that would have been miserable.