Hell-Evator Ride From Hell.

In our quirky little building, our quirky little elevator recently became the source of my greatest nightmare.

On Tuesday morning, I solicited the elevator to the 6th floor. I boarded the elevator, checking my watch and calculating how much time I had to catch my bus. When the elevator stopped, I went to step off. The only problem seemed to be that the door wasn't opening. The elevator was no longer moving, and try as I may by pressing every single button in the thing, I could not get the door to budge.

I called Stephen on my cell. As soon as I heard myself announce to him that I was stuck on the elevator, the panic sank in. All of a sudden, I could not breathe. The elevator is tiny and dingy to begin with, but it seemed to be getting smaller by the second. It was horrifying. Stephen urged me to try all the buttons again. This I did. To no avail.

Stephen came down the stairs, calling through the elevator doors at each floor to see if he could locate me. Eventually was able to hear him. He was on the first floor, but his voice sounded like it was slightly below me. I was clearly trapped somewhere between the first and second floors.

At this point, I was hyperventilating. I found some paper with an "In case of elevator emergency" number, and promptly dialed it. I thought I would be dialing some elevator manufacturer in China, but was extremely relieved when I was greeted with, "C and J management, how can we help?" (C and J being the management company for our building.) Somehow I managed to blurt out that I was trapped in the elevator. The woman, a seemingly kind soul, issued some reassuring words, telling me to sit tight while she paged the manager. Several minutes passed with no update from the answering service, so I dialed back. This time, the "seemingly kind soul" greeted me with an annoyed, "What do you want??" She could not possibly be serious, right? WHAT DID I WANT? Ahhh...how about getting me out of this f*&@#ing rat trap for starters!!!

Anyway, realizing that our useless building "super" was going to do everything to protect his "useless" title, Stephen decided to call 911. Perhaps my deep panic in the elevator help lead him to this decision, too.

Within a few moments, I heard the sirens outside of the building. "Thank Christ" was all I could think.

Finally I heard the firefighters who had come to my rescue. I was almost weeping with joy and relief to realize they hadn't even bothered to send the cops, but rather had gone directly for the fire fighters. I mean, I am not putting cops down, and I realize the important role they play in our society and I'm thankful to them for it, but seriously...in situations like this, when you know shit is going to have to be DONE, you NEED and WANT the firefighters. Those peeps don't even try to waste time screwing around. They just get the job done. No small talk. No farting around. But the thing that I always find amazing about firefighters is that while they're getting right down to business, they always seem to find a word or two of reassurance or comfort for the person in distress.

Needless to say, Boston's Bravest did not disappoint in this regard. One of the firefighters, while trying to instruct me how to "kill the power" in the elevator, managed to call me every pet name in the book, all the while assuring me that they were there to help and I could stop worrying. I think it went something like this..."Ok, honey. Look, Sweetheart. What I need to you to do, Doll, is try to look around, Darling, and find the power switch, Pumpkin, and turn it down, Love." When I became alarmed at not finding the thing, the guy asked me, "Ok, Pet, no problem, Dear. You're in an older elevator, Sugar, and so you just leave it to us to figure out what to do, Baby." (Is this a typical Irish Boston Firefighter, or what? )

At any rate, intense conversation pursued as to how the would kill the power on the thing. At some point, they must have sounded as if they didn't know what to do, and I must have slid into a deeper panic because I think I hysterically said, "You're the firefighters. You always know what to do. Please don't tell me you don't know what to do!" I don't have a recording of what I sounded like, but I'm willing to wager that I sounded like a woman on the edge.

At this point, I was unsure of how many firefighters were there. However, at this point, when I expressed this primal fear that I was encapsulated in this elevator for the rest of my days, I heard about 6 voices make haste to reassure me that they would not leave my side until I was out of there, "even if it took all day and night." They made a solemn promise that they would stick with me, and I believed they would. I immediately started to breathe easier.

At any rate, the discussion seemed to end when the men reached a consensus that the best way to kill the power was through a control mechanism that is almost always on the roof of the building. When I meekly asked why they needed to kill the power, one disembodied firefighter's voice informed me that since I was clearly between floors, they needed to kill the power in case they had my body partially out of the shaft, and the elevator decided to start moving again.

'Nuff said.

Stephen accompanied a duo of the firefighters to the roof egress. The reached the 7th floor when he realized, "Crap, we don't have keys to the roof door!"

A voice behind him calmly stated, "I do."

Stephen turned to see one of the men with is axe at the ready. With it, he proceeded to nonchalantly bust open the door. He then walked, without missing a beat, to the box containing the elevator mechanisms, and used his axe to bust the hell into that thing, too. He proceeded to kill the power.

At some point, the firefighters who had adjourned to the roof returned and reported that it was safe to begin the entry into the elevator itself. I saw the beam of a flashlight enter the elevator and the men told me that they were coming in.

I heard the god awful crunch of metal and steel being manipulated in most unnatural ways.

At long last, the door was pried open, and I looked down into the eyes of my knights in shining armor...6 of Boston's Bravest.

As I said, I was somewhere between the first and second floors. When the men opened the elevator, they could see my legs from my knees down. I could, in turn, look down and see those guys looking up at me.

I started to jump the hell out of there, but they stayed me, asking me to patiently wait out the enactment of their elevator rescue protocol. Of course I obliged, even though the instinct to jump out of there was so great.

Anyway, they laid a ladder sideways across the exposed elevator shaft, braced their feet against it, and then instructed me to lay flat on my back in the elevator, with my feet pointed toward the door.

This I did, albeit feeling completely ridiculous.

The firefighters instructed me to inch my body toward the open door. Two of them stood on either side of me, catching my ankles and calf muscles. As I inched further, two of them grabbed me from under the thighs and low back. Still two more supported me from just under the shoulders. Eventually, my body was soaring above six strapping firefighters, parallel to the floor below.

Ever the caring professionals, they did not remove their supportive hands, even from my ankles, until my feet were again on terra firma.

Guys, all I have to say is THANK GOD for firefighters. I have always known they are the true heros in any crisis. This only proved my theory.

So, to all the firefighters in the world, including the best one, CALIFORNIA MO....Thank you for what you do every day.