Look, guys, panic makes you do the crazy.
My mom’s got claustrophobia, and I’ve only seen it kick in once or twice in my entire life, but she went from sweet, reasonable, loving woman to RIP IT OUT OF THE WALL KILL KILL KILL in the space of two seconds when she was trapped in a bathroom stall. When she was traveling in Europe and took a subway that stayed underground a little too long, three of her travel mates dropped everything and attended her with the same drop-dead focus of a open heart surgical team, because she’d turned white, then green, then started leaking tears, and then went into a flop sweat. Other passengers swore she was having a heart attack.
I have clobbered some poor innocent when my panic button got hit just right. I’ve also gone completely aphasic and just made a bunch of screamy vowel sounds. A friend of mine nearly tore my face off when I put my hand just where her neck met her shoulders. I’ve seen students faint, scream, and try to go on a Viking bloodlust berserker rage. I’ve also seen people I had gauged as “calm under fire” go completely to pieces.
You just don’t know until you’ve been there.
So, you have a woman who accidentally locks her keys in her car. Bet she felt really stupid on that one. Then she got her arm stuck. Now she’s thinking about all the ribbing she’s going to get when she explains why she’s late. So, she starts calling for help. (“Hey, anybody there? I could use a hand!”)
And calling. (“Heh. Seriously. I’m stuck. I need some help. Anybody?”)
And calling. (“Uh . . . kind of freaking out here. SOMEBODY? PLEASE?”)
And calling. (“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ISN’T THERE ANYONE OUT THERE?!”)
And calling. (“HELP! PLEASE HELP! ANYONE? HELP ME!”)
She’s tried pulling her arm out, but she is well and truly stuck, and now her arm is starting to swell. She’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s night. Hey, maybe the coyotes are howling. Her parents or boyfriend or kids or coworkers or whoever the hell she was going to meet are wondering where she is, and she’s got no way to let them know what’s going on. She could literally disappear off the face of the planet, and no one would know.
And someone comes out of the building.
“COULDN’T YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?!”
“Uh, no. What’s wrong? You’re stuck?”
“YES, I’M FUCKING STUCK. CALL 911!”
“Well, that might cost you some money, and it could take awhile. How about I call Triple A?”
“NO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT, CALL 911!”
“Wow, you’re a real bitch, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll call 911, but then I’m outta here.”
Maybe in the rest of her life, she is a stone cold cunt who enjoys scrapbooking her kitten drowning days. If you have documentation on that, I can totally see calling 911 and leaving. Otherwise, you stay, and you treat the crazy person with as much kindness as you can, even if that means going back inside and watching her from the window to make sure she doesn’t get eaten by coyotes.
Because I can guarantee that what would have been a funny, slightly embarrassing story for her has now morphed into a “Oh, my God, I was terrified, I couldn’t figure out what to do, I’d been screaming for half an hour, I was seriously losing it, and this guy came out, AND NOT ONLY DID HE ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT CALLING 911, BUT WHEN HE FINALLY CALLED, HE JUST TURNED AROUND AND LEFT ME THERE!”
There are times, morally and ethically, when we are obligated to take shit from another human being. This was one of them, and you blew it.