If there was one series on this blog that I would love NOT to extend - it is the worst fear realized series. Previous editions have included needles in my eye, dental picks, a volcanic stye, and being enrolled to teach a class at a university that had let me go 2 years prior! All major hoots. 

In terms of content warnings, if you are already scared of elevators, maybe this isn't the post for you. With that said . . .

A bit of parallel history that informs the upcoming situation. 

Sigmund Freud died in 1939. I use this fact as gentle support for the thesis that Psychology as a science started to take off in and around the late 30's and 40's. There was a big and increasingly relevant war that happened about the same time. Brutalist architecture became popular in the 1950s. Post war, in an effort to conserve materials, buildings "showcase[d] the bare building materials and structural elements over decorative design.^[6][7] The style commonly makes use of exposed, unpainted concrete or brick, angular geometric shapes and a predominantly monochrome colour palette." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brutalist_architecture#History). That's a fancy way of saying they erected plain grey block-shaped concrete monstrosities with little to no lasting visual appeal. 

Because of the co-evolution of Psychology and Brutalism's popularity, most university Psychology buildings can be identified by their blockiness, jail-like presence, and lack of access to windows that open (not sure why this last point is true - but I have found it to be so). Boston College's Psychology building is a bit more modern, hailing from 1968, and mercifully with the 60's came windows you can fully open and close. Posh. Still, that's a 50+ year old space. Without disclosing any college secrets, this building is a part of the group of edifices the university hopes to refurbish or replace in the not too too distant future. (I think that's vague enough). The last, very important, detail you should know is that the University replaced the two elevators in my building last summer, but this story comes from the Spring prior to their replacement. 

When it comes to teaching, and more specifically my teaching, I am a bit neurotic. As a human living with ADHD, I am constantly worried in the back of my mind that I may have lost something, forgotten an appointment, or misremembered when or where a class starts. Because of this semi-value-added neurological warning system, I tend to (read: always) arrive at class 15 minutes before the class begins. This is when the previous class is let out, and always the maximum "set up/chat to students" time. It's a great time to get to know students before the formality of class begins. That's just a fun fact about me. 

On the day in question, I had thrown away my finished lunch, popped my computer in my bag, and filled up my water bottle at the fountain by the lifts. My office is on the 5th floor. I want to tell you I am a good, self-motivated person who enhances his physical fitness by committing to using the stairs. In truth, I have never once climbed from the first floor to my office. That's the truth. I have gone down a few times. Don't take that out of context. Today, I hit the down button on the elevator and spaced out as I waited. 

These elevators have a few quirks. The doors don't "open" when you arrive at your floor. They pause for the exact amount of time it takes for you to start thinking, "huh, am I trapped in here?" As soon as that thought crosses your mind, they ding open. I don't know how those machines locked into the collective subconscious of humanity like that, but I swear even when my fear time varied, they always dinged right after. I have heard that ding in my nightmares. 

I hear the elevator arrive, wait until I think the doors must be malfunctioning, then hear the haunting ding from inside the car as the elevator doors welcome me inside. I am alone. I step in and hit the first floor button. Nothing happens. I wait. Eventually I think, "huh maybe something is wrong with th . . . . ding!!!" Fooled me again. The doors close and we begin to decend. 

"Ding!!!," 4th Floor

"Ding!!!" 3rd Floor

BLACKOUT. 

Seriously. 

Somewhere between floors 2 and 3 the power in the elevator comes to a complete standstill. Like, yes, the lights went out, but I all heard the inner machinery "power down" like my computer after the Shut Down command. I am now in a completely dark cube, with no source of light coming through the slit between the doors. 

Here's where it gets weird.

The first thing that I thought. Or, more accurately, the first idea that crossed my brain was, "Am I dreaming?" And I know, that I just wrote a prolonged set-up to this experience where I detailed that I am both at work and on my way to class, but for a split section, in darkness, in an elevator, what made the most common sense to my brain, was that I must be sleeping and dreaming -- because any other explanation would be too terrifying.  

A moment later, I am terrified.  

I'm not sure how long the power outage lasted. I'm sure in objective real time, it was less than 2 minutes. But, I am not ashamed to admit, I started shouting to people "on the outside" almost immediately. In my mind, were this elevator to just give up, stop trying, tired of the charade of towing humans up and down to nowhere --  I needed people to know there was a person inside. A life to be saved.

"Hello!!!! I'm in here! I'm inside the elevator!!" I said these words out loud. Like a lunatic writing S.O.S. in coconut shells.

I hear the muffled response of two undergraduates on the floor above. They have heard me, and my fear of dying anonymously in the upcoming elevator crash subsides. They are the ones who inform me that the power outage is building wide, not just in my personal hell. I don't know if this news is a relief or a further concern. 

A few seconds after I pull my phone out to cut through the black, the lights power back on. A moment later I feel the hydraulics kick in. I'm going down. At a reasonable speed. As I step out of the elevator I somewhat expect there to be an end-of-the-movie-in-Armageddon-like reception/recovery squad waiting to welcome me back to Earth after having suffered a great trauma to self for the country. Instead, I'm met with the hungry eyes of undergrads, waiting to get on. 

Do they know nothing! As an educator and showman, I felt the need to briefly regale them with my story of trauma and survival. A few of them take the stairs as a result. Not all of them. Ah, the invincibility of youth. 

Suffice it to say, I was happy they replaced the elevators.