Elevator or Little Box of Death?

Last week, the very thing that I fear the most on this planet finally happened to me.  I was trapped alone on an elevator for nearly 45 minutes.  Talk about the scariest moment of my life?  On the way up to our 18th floor offices, the elevator completely froze leaving me trapped between the 9^th and the 10^th floors.  Among my many psychological disorders, claustrophobia just happens to be on the absolute top of the list.  So although most people would probably just think, “Hey, no big deal…I’ll just play Tetris on my phone until they fix it.”  For me, I might as well have been stuck on that elevator with Jaws, Freddy Kruger, and a little rabid monkey waving around switch blade.  I couldn’t have possibly been any more gripped with fear.  In the words of Fred G Sanford, I surely thought I was on my way to join Elizabeth.

The emergency button on the elevator was broken, not to mention there was absolutely no cell phone reception whatsoever.  So at this point, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was going to die.  I thought; if I didn’t suffocate do death from running out of oxygen; the cable was sure to snap, sending me plunging 10 stories to my death.  Either way, it wasn’t going to be pretty.  It’s funny how your mind works in times of dire emergency.  Even though I was stuck there trapped in a little steel box faced with my apparent demise: the only thing I could think of was, “Dammit; I forgot to put away my midget porn!”  When you walk out your door every morning, you never in million years think that there’s possibly a chance you won’t ever return.  Trust me; If I did, I certainly would not have left all of my damn Bridget the Midget dvd’s sprawled across my bed for the world to see.  Now– no matter what good things I’ve contributed to this world; or how many pairs of shoes I donated to Haiti last year.  The only thing that anybody would ever remember of me is that I didn’t make up my bed; and I had a massive fetish for little foul mouthed Mexican Midgets.  This was somehow not the legacy I had always imagined for myself.  I could already picture the funeral, and my poor mom sitting there riddled with shame, while each person steps up to the mic and give testimony of every freaky thing they’ve ever seen me do.  And my damn grandmother would surely lead the pack, telling everyone the audience about that time I was eight and she caught me in the basement playing with her “good” dildo.  No matter how many times I told that old wench that I thought it was a toy rocket; some people just refuse to let things go.

In that moment I realized that there was no way I was about to go out like this.  With that said, I began banging and screaming on the door for help like a mad man.  I prayed to every deity I could think of.  I called out to Jesus, Allah, and Moses.  Hell, I even called out a couple times to Superman.  Shit, desperate times call for desperate measures.  In a state of sheer panic, I could feel the oxygen leaving the room.  I suddenly remembered my therapist once saying that if you ever find yourself in a claustrophobic situation, the trick is to do whatever you would normally do to relax your mind.  So with no other choice, I did the only thing I could think of to relax.  I began to masturbate.  Now, typically I’m not the kind of guy who goes whipping out his Johnson on the elevator and starts spanking his monkey all “Willie Nillie”.  But, this was indeed a life or death situation.  I was in no way shape or form doing this for pleasure’s sake.  My life was on the line; and dammit– I wanted to live.

Here’s where the story really gets a little crazy.  I have a rather obscure way of masturbating that requires me to lie down on the bed and simulate sex by humping my hand on the mattress.  A technique I accidentally discovered in the ^4th grade.  With no bed in sight, I had no choice but to use the floor of the elevator as if it were a mattress.  With that said I got down on my knees; pretended that damn floor was Bridget the Midget, and I went for broke.  Since this was no doubt sure to be my very last time: I really pulled out all the stops too.  I did every move I knew, and even a few I had seen in movies and always wanted to try.  I did downward facing dog” with one leg hiked up on the wall for leverage.  I even tried this little helicopter move I saw once in Japanese title.  That one didn’t go so smooth.  I guess some sexual positions really do require a second person, otherwise it just comes off as awkward.  Before I knew it, I had actually worked up a sweat.  And would you know it, that therapist was actually right.  I could suddenly breathe again.  It was a miracle.

Now…I don’t know if it was one of my prayers, or if during all that humping I somehow managed to jiggle one of the circuits back into place.  But within several minutes, the elevator started to move again.  I was saved; just in time too.  Normally after a good “self love” session, I have a tendency to fall out like a light.  If that damn elevator door had opened up with me sprawled out asleep, face down with pants to my knees: I imagine that some people would’ve probably just gotten the wrong idea.  People can be so damn negative sometimes, always assuming the worst.  Thankfully, I had just enough time to get up and button my pants back before the elevator finally got to my floor.  And as I looked up to the sky to thank my God, I could literally not believe my eyes.  There mounted above me in the corner of the elevator was a big ass security camera aimed directly at me.  I gasped and thought, “Hey…had that been there the entire time?”  I guess I was so hysterical that I didn’t even bother to look up.  This was definitely not a good thing.

I went back to my cubicle and immediately began packing up my desk.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that my Black ass was as good as fired.  I’ve talked myself out of some doozies in my day; but there was no way in hell I could talk my way out of sexually assaulting the elevator.  However to my surprise, no one said anything to me about the incident the entire day.  In-fact, I went back to work every day that week and still absolutely nothing.  Could it be that nobody even saw the tape?  It finally hit me that as old and raggedy as that elevator is; that darn camera probably doesn’t even work.

Then this afternoon, as I was walking out of the building on my way home; something just told me to turn around.  As I did; I discovered a big group of about six security guards gathered around the monitor and doubled over in hysterics as they pointed in my direction.  I’m gonna take a wild guest as to what they were laughing at.

IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!!  AND REMEMBER TO FOLLOW BRETT AND THE CITY ON FACE BOOK!