The ridiculousness of this situation is heightened by the Frenchiness we encountered throughout: no one coming to our rescue even though we were four inches off the lobby floor and the front desk night watch man could no doubt hear us calling for help and repeatedly buzzing the black call button. It was only until I used my French cell phone to call the the Residence’s front desk that he acknowledged our situation – and even then – shat on it with a big pile of French poop.
What happens next is him telling me that they have called “the technician.” Good, I think, he’ll get here lickity split since this is a sensitive situation. Ohhhh no. The unhelpful Frenchie at the front desk proceeds to tell me this “technician” is coming from Nice as he was attending to another elevator disaster (what the hell kind of elevators are these that break all the time?!) and it will take at least 45min. Fantastic. Great. Katio (that rhymes with ‘patio’) has been crouched in the corner for 10min already crying and shaking. I tell him his time estimate is “too long” for us to wait, but alas, his unhelpful nature is unwavering. I get the sense he may even be smirking. Awesome.
Frustrated, I call Namita (the HBIC) and think for sure she will make something happen. In the very least she can call the local fire department (assuming there is a local fire dept — in four years I can’t say I’ve ever noticed one…) and they can come axe us out or something. She calls me back and says the fire department says to rely on the “technician.” Wait, what?! The FIRE DEPARTMENT said, “No”?!?! Is that even legal?! Firemen get cats out of trees for christsake – that surely seems less urgent than 9 people, 1 mid-panic-attack, being stuck in a small metal box hovering two stories over the underground parking deck. What the hell?
Realizing this situation is going nowhere fast, I begrudgingly begin to accept our fate and focus my energy on the others in this shoebox with me.
We laughed, we cried, we shared water (thank god Sophie had grabbed an extra bottle from the welcome dinner), and we shared Xanax (thank god Sophie had flown in that evening and still had her plane aid in her purse). It was a tumultuous hour, but we all made it out alive and bonded together.
It is no coincidence that NO ONE has ridden in that elevator since then and that most students are getting far more exercise than usual on this trip as most opt to take the stairs given our elevator incident.
Off The Duff 