I was headed downstairs. At our old building, that would mean going down a couple of flights of stairs. Now, we’re on the 7th floor. I’m lazy. So that means a ride down in the elevator. Have you seen how steep those stairs are?
The elevators seem to take about an hour and a half to get to our floor for some reason. That means when the elevator gets there, you make sure you get on it by whatever means necessary. I have, on more than one occasion, broken the now removed Rules of Elevator Etiquette by sticking an arm or any available appendage between the closing doors to make sure I don’t miss it. Sometimes the sensors don’t seem very sensitive. The doors wait until they actually hit your hand before they reopen. Many times I’ve envisioned my severed hand riding down the elevator I just missed while I stand in the elevator lobby, only upset that I now have to wait for the next car. The hand can be retrieved by playing a game of elevator roulette trying to get the car containing my missing hand. But I need to be wherever I’m headed now. I’ll fetch the hand later.
Today was not one of those instances. I was casually walking into the elevator, listening to whatever radio station was streaming to my phone at the time. As I stepped through the doors, the elevator decided to seek vengeance for all of my law-breaking days, closing the doors as soon as I was between them. No severed hand this time, but it did manage to time the closing doors to hit my shoulder. This apparently made my hand flinch. The flinch was enough to dislodge my phone from my grip.
It all happened so fast that I didn’t know what had happened. All I know is that my music stopped and my elevator associates laughed. That’s when I realized my hand was empty. I looked down as the doors reopened. Sitting on the floor of the elevator lobby was my phone. Luckily, as I had imagined several times, my headphone cord detaching from the phone slowed the fall enough to protect it from cracking the screen…again.
That wasn’t the elevator’s plan, though. No, it wasn’t enough that I could have had to pay to fix the screen or suffer with the cracked glass until the new phone is released. It had a much more nefarious intent. My phone landed mere inches from the crack in the floor between the elevator and the floor proper. Had it not disconnected from my headphones at the exact moment it did, it would have careened stories below. To its death. Never to be retrieved.
When I realized what had just happened, I grabbed my phone before the elevator could make its next move. There was no doubt that the elevator wasn’t done yet.
Aside from the monetary loss, I don’t know when I last synched my phone. That means I have no idea how much data would be lost. Important data. Matters of life and death, I’m sure. The elevator did not care. All that mattered was that I pay for my misdoings.
Elevators are jerks.