Elevator or Little Box of Death?

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Last week, the very thing I fear the most actually happened to me.  I was trapped alone on an elevator for nearly 25 minutes.  On the way up to my 18th floor office, the elevator froze, leaving me trapped between the 9^th and the 10^th floors.  Among my many psychological disorders, claustrophobia is on the very 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 a switch blade.  I couldn’t have possibly been any more gripped with fear.

The emergency button on the elevator was broken, and there was 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 from running out of air; 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.  Even though I was trapped in a steel box faced with death, the only thing I could think of was, “Dammit; I forgot to put away my midget porn!”  When you walk out your door, you never in million years think there’s a chance that you won’t ever return.  If I did, I certainly would not have left all of my Bridget the Midget dvd’s sprawled across my bed for the world to see.  Now, no matter what good I’ve contributed to this world; or how many pairs of shoes I donated to Haiti.  The only thing anybody would ever remember of me, is that I didn’t make up my bed, and I had a fetish for little foul mouthed Mexican Midgets.  This was somehow not the legacy I had imagined for myself.

Suddenly I began banging and screaming for help like a mad man.  I prayed to every deity I could think of.  I called out to Jesus, Moses; hell I even called out a couple times to Superman.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  In a state of sheer panic, I remembered my therapist once saying that if you ever find yourself in a claustrophobic situation, the trick is to do whatever you 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 whips out his Johnson on the elevator at work, and starts spanking his monkey all “Willie Nillie”.  But, this was indeed a life or death situation.  I wasn’t doing this for pleasure sake.  My life was on the line.  And dammit I wanted to live.

I have a rather obscure way of masturbating that requires me to lie down on the bed and simulate sex by humping the mattress.   A technique I accidentally discovered in the 6^th grade.  With no bed in sight, I had no choice but to use the floor of the elevator.  With that said, I got down on my knees, pretended that floor was Bridget the Midget, and I went for broke.  Since this was no doubt, sure to be my last time: I pulled out all the stops.  I did every move I knew, and even a few I had always wanted to try.  I tried “downward facing dog” with one leg hiked up on the wall.  I even tried this helicopter move I saw once in Japanese film.  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 worked up a sweat.  And believe it or not, that therapist was actually right.  I could suddenly breathe again.  It was a miracle.

I don’t know if it was one of my prayers, or if during all the humping I somehow managed to jiggle one of the circuits back in place.  But within several minutes, the elevator started to move again.  I was saved.  Just in time too, because normally after one of my “self love” sessions, I have a tendency to fall out like a light.  If that elevator door had opened up, with me sprawled out asleep, face down with pants to my knees.  I imagine some people would’ve probably gotten the wrong idea.  People can be so damn negative.  Thankfully, I had just enough time to get up and button my pants before the elevator got to my floor.  As I looked up to the sky to thank God, I could not believe my eyes.  Mounted above me in the corner of the elevator, was a big ass security camera, aimed directly at me.  I gasped and thought, “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 good.

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.  But to my surprise, no one said anything the entire day.  In-fact, I went back to work every day that week and still absolutely nothing.  Could it be that nobody saw the tape?  I thought, “It is an old elevator.  Perhaps that camera doesn’t even work.”   Then this morning as I was walking out of the building, something told me to turn around.  As I  turned, I discovered a big group of security guards gathered around the monitor, doubled over in hysterics as they pointed in my direction.

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