Lift

I shouldn’t have been there. My hygienist told me there were elevator problems and I should take the stairs. But I was late for a teeth cleaning and I’d forgotten her warning. Who knew a visit to my dentist would become a Hitchcockian thriller?

My dentist’s office is located in an aging six-story medical building in Burbank. My appointment was for nine a.m. By the time I found parking, I was five minutes late. I pressed the elevator button and waited. I entered the lift with three others. There was a frail looking man in his 90s with a hearing aid, a 30ish plump Latino woman and her young daughter. I pressed the third floor button and asked the woman what floor she wanted.

“Quatro, por favor,” she said.

I pressed the fourth floor button.

“How about you, sir?”

“What,” he said.

“What floor do you want?”

“I can’t hear you.”

“What floor,” I yelled.

“Five,” he said flashing five fingers.

The elevator made a creaking sound and the doors closed in a herky-jerky fashion. We heard the sound of grinding gears as the conveyor started upwards. Somewhere between the second and third floor, the elevator started shaking horribly. It came to a stop. The floor indicator light flashed between floors “2” and “3.” Then the flashing stopped altogether. We were stuck.

I was filled with a wave of horror.

“Oye dios mio,” the Latino woman said. She crossed herself and put an arm around her daughter. We locked eyes. She was also terrified. I tried to calm her down.

“No problemo,” I said in pidgin-Spanish. “It’s okay.”

We waited for the lift to restart. It didn’t.

“What’s going on,” the old man said.

“The elevator appears to be stuck,” I told him.

“Well get it unstuck,” he said with an edge. “I have to use the bathroom.”

Noting his sallow skin and obvious ill health, this was the worst thing he could’ve said.

“Hang in there, sir. I’m sure it’ll start soon.”

I pressed the alarm button. Nothing happened. I pressed it again. No response. I grabbed my cell phone and called my wife. I asked her to look up my dentist’s number and I gave them a call. The receptionist answered.

“Gina, this is Loren. I’m stuck in your elevator.”

“Jesus not again,” she said. “I’ll call maintenance.”

“Any idea how long it’ll take?”

“How many people are with you?”

“Three others.”

“Just try to relax. I’ll call you back.”

The idea of relaxing in a stranded elevator with three strangers seemed impossible.

“Qué dijeron,” the Latino woman said.

“I don’t know what you’re asking,” I said. “We’ll be okay. No problemo.”

“Ci problemo,” she said. “Es peligroso.”

I recognized the word peligroso from signs outside construction sites. I thought it meant “falling debris” but obviously it meant something else.

The old man put his hand on his stomach and started groaning.

“I need the bathroom,” he said.

“Hold on, sir. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Take deep breaths. Someone should be here soon.”

I looked at the little girl. She appeared to be five or six.

“Do you speak English,” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Tell your mom I called for help and someone should be coming soon.”

The girl translated for her mom. Her mother nodded to say she understood. I reached out and lightly touched her arm. She pulled away, freaked out I’d touched her.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “No problemo.”

The old man groaned louder. His eyes were shut and he was swaying back and forth.

“You okay, sir?”

“Open this damn door now,” he said.

“I can’t. We’re stuck.”

“Get it open or I’m gonna go all over my pants.”

The Latino woman put a hand over her daughter’s eyes. I wanted to cover my eyes as well.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Huh?”

“Your name.”

“What?”

“What is your name?,” I yelled.

“Marvin,” he said between grunts.

“Listen Marvin. There’s something you can do to hold it in.”

“What?”

I leaned forward and yelled directly into his ear. “Clench your buttocks.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Your buttocks,” I yelled.

“What about ‘em?”

“Clench them,” I yelled.

“What?”

“Just clench your damn butt cheeks, will ya?”

“Okay, okay,” he said.

I watched as he pressed his legs together and crossed his arms. This was an effort as he soon began trembling. I looked away, unsure what to do. The Latino woman buried her face in the corner. At that moment, the elevator dropped a foot and then caught itself. The woman screamed. The old man nearly fell. I grabbed his elbow and steadied him. He looked at me with anger and confusion.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“It’s not me,” I said. “It’s the elevator.”

“I’m an old man and I need the bathroom now.”

“I know,” I said.

I called the dentist again.

“Gina, we have an emergency in here. There’s an old guy about to poop in his pants.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “Can you tell him to hold it?”

“I’ve been telling him.”

“The repair people should be there in 15 minutes.”

“We don’t have fifteen minutes,” I said then hung up.

“Help is coming,” I screamed into the old man’s ear.

“What?”

“Help,” I said.

“Hell? Yeah this is hell, I know.”

I tapped the little girl on the shoulder. She gazed up at me with doe eyes.

“Tell your mom the elevator repair company will be here in fifteen minutes.”

She conveyed the message. Her mom replied, “No lo suficientemente rápida. Que pasa viejo hombre,” she asked.

“No comprende,” I said.

“She wants to know what’s wrong with the old man,” the little girl said.

“He needs to use the bathroom.”

“El necesita usar el baño,” the girl said.

“Oy yoy yoy,” the woman said.

She started hyperventilating. I had to pee as well. The situation was going from bad to worse.

The old man jabbed his finger into my chest.

“You have about 30 seconds until I go all over my clothes.”

“In the name of all that’s holy, hold on.”

“It’s your fault,” he said.

“Don’t do it,” I yelled.

He shook his head from side to side. I heard a rumbling noise like the sound of distant thunder. This was followed by an odor like the stench of rotting meat. I dry-heaved, overtaken by the smell. I grabbed a Covid mask from my back pocket and strapped it over my nose. It was powerless against the effluvium.

The Latino woman groaned like an animal caught in a trap. She covered her mouth and knelt to the floor in search of fresh air.

“I’m sorry,” the old man said in a low whisper.

I felt for him. This was a horror show and we were all victims.

“Here it comes again,” he said.

I turned away and covered my face. I heard a sputtering sound like an outboard motor. A putrid cloud of miasma invaded my nostrils. His ass was an IED and we were about to get blown to bits.

I heard a thump. I looked back and saw the old man on the floor, his legs trembling. His eyes were closed and he made no sound.

“Sir,” I said.

He didn’t respond.

“Sir, are you okay?”

I knelt down and placed two fingers on his carotid. He had a pulse but he looked to be unconscious. I called the dentist for the third time.

“Man down,” I yelled.

“What happened?”

“The old guy crapped himself and passed out. I think I’m about to pass out as well.”

“Oh dear,” she said.

“Call 911,” I said. “Tell them there’s a man who might be dying.”

She hung up. I scrunched my body against the far wall next to the Latino woman. She was whimpering. Her daughter looked up at me. I tried smiling but this only made me dry heave again.

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose to mitigate the odor. I heard the sound of a siren followed by heavy footsteps entering the lobby. A male voice yelled out, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” I yelled back.

“What floor are you on?”

“We’re stuck between the second and third floor.”

Footsteps ran through the lobby into the stairwell. We heard loud knocking on the outer metal door.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Stand back from the doors.”

We stepped to the back of the elevator as a tool was inserted into the outer door. After a few seconds, the door slid open and we saw the legs of three firemen on the third floor and the faces of two firemen on the second floor. The elevator was stuck halfway between floors. A fireman on the third floor bent down and thrust his head into our car. A scowl overtook his features.

“Get my respirator,” he said.

He donned a gas mask and knelt down again. I pointed to the old man in the corner. The masked firemen squeezed into our car and lifted the little girl to safety on the third floor. They retrieved a step ladder and the woman and I both climbed to freedom. The mother hugged her daughter.

Several firemen, each with respirators, squeezed into the lift and tended to the old man. I watched and waited then remembered I had to urinate. I ran to the bathroom to do my business. When I returned, the old man was out of the elevator on a gurney. The firemen were taking his vitals.

I walked to my dentist’s office. The entire staff including several dentists gathered around me to see if I was okay. They asked if I still wanted a teeth cleaning.

“This one’s free, right,” I asked.

“Of course,” my dentist said.

“Let’s do it,” I said not wanting to return.

I entered a room and saw my hygienist Rita. She had a stern look on her face.

“Don’t say I told you so,” I said.

She made a gesture of zipping her lips. I walked to the window and looked down to the street. The paramedics were lifting the man into an ambulance. I watched as they turned on the siren and drove away. I decided then that I’d never take another elevator again.