I was at the annual Shamrock Festival last Saturday. It was an outdoor festival in an urban part of the county, where lots of beer was flowing, as well as music entertainment. It got cold and so about thirteen of us decided to head over to this guy Mike’s apartment, who lives a block away. When we got to the elevator, I was the first one inside and thought to myself: hmmm, I hope we all don’t try to squeeze in this little elevator. I guess a dozen people, drunk off of green Bud Light, didn’t think ahead like I did. I found myself being pushed to the far corner of the elevator, yelling, “No! No! No!” while twelve, full-bladdered lushes rammed in, giggling. My protests were not heard over their drunken laughter. And then a couple of guys thought it would be funny to hop up and down in unison when the elevator started to move.
Yup. The elevator stopped, and I was trapped, sober (I had not a drop to drink), squeezed in like a sardine, no room to move, feeling claustrophobic, surrounded by people panicking for a toilet… We were in the elevator for AN HOUR! The saving grace was one of the guys had taken about fifteen souvenir plastic, beer cups from the festival. You guessed it. We had a girls’ corner and a guys’ corner for our drunkards to empty their beer-filled bladders into the plastic cups. Some of the guys had to use two cups. It was SOOOO GROSS!!! Shuffling inside the elevator was like squeezing and moving chess pieces bound by a rubber band. Ridiculous. But somehow, I moved closest to the door from the far corner.
When the firemen finally pried open the door, we were halfway up one floor. They wouldn’t let us through the open part, until the cable was secured (another ten minutes) because heaven forbid we be SEVERED by a runaway elevator. They told us about 6 people in our metro die a year by trying to go through the small opening of an unstable elevator. Ick. I was the first one out. They yanked me out by my arms like a flopping fish. We heavily thanked the big, burly firemen and then they left immediately on a call… and I kid you not… for another stuck elevator a block away, full of drunken Shamrock Festival Go-ers.
True story. We got it all on a digi cam with video! The rescue, shots of guys double-fisting their “beer” cups and all.
I know where you’re coming from. About 3 1/2 years ago, I was visiting a friend and his wife in Dresden, traveling with my brother and his girlfriend (now wife). It was the middle of the Elbhangfest, another drunken festival probably similar to the one you speak of. We had just arrived, each of us carrying a piece of luggage. My friend lived in the fifth floor penthouse, so he, my brother, and I get on the elevator (a small elevator, not quite enough room to stretch my arms completely out in any direction). My brother’s girlfriend comes up, sees the crowded elevator, and starts to take the stairs; my friend stops her and says, “You can fit in here, it’s only a short ride up five floors!” The door closes, my friend happens to glance down at the weight capacity, and remarks, “But I’m sure we’re over 300kg!” with a bit of laughter. Sure enough, we get about halfway up the first floor, and the elevator gives out on us.
Being the middle of the festival, there’s hardly anyone around; luckily, my friend’s wife is still out in the free world. We manage to get her attention and she calls the building manager for someone to get us out.
Fortunately we didn’t have the bathroom problems you did, but we were in there about an hour as well, and it did get fairly hot, cramped, and uncomfortable.
When in college, I was in a forty-floor elevator ride late one evening, just me and a woman in her thirties.
Turns out, this woman was severely claustrophobic, and could barely ride the elevator in the best of circumstances.
Imagine my joy when the elevator became stuck, and I was trapped inside for nearly two hours while my companion had a nervous breakdown right in front of me.
I work as a baker(surprise!) in a cafe in our public library. Last year I let myself into the building well over an hour early, on a Monday, as I had two big sheet cakes to bake first thing, so I could cool them and decorate for a retirment party later than afternoon.
About halfway up the one floor the elevator stopped. I was concerned, but figured the emergency phone would get me help. Right. It was mistakenly keyed into the library phone system, and I was there way earlier than anyone else arrives.
I got on that elevator at 4:30 AM and got off of it at 7:00AM. So much for getting ahead on my work! I demanded, and got, before the end of the day, a written apology from the library director and the security chief. They kept the elevator out of service for a couple more hours, until it was wired up to the emergency network.
I must have looked awful coming out of the doors. I hadn’t really been scared, just very, very annoyed. I remember it as me being like a bull coming out of the chute in a rodeo, a snortin’ and bucking, looking around for something to be mad at.
You’d have to use shoes or something.