Wednesday, April 20, 2011

out of order

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but to get to my office, I typically get on two different sets of elevators. One is a quick two flight trip, and the other takes me the remaining five flights. It’s pretty awesome. Between people farting (and then LEAVING!!), small children pressing the buttons for EACH FLIGHT, and pretending I’m Fonzie while using my elbow to push the correct floor numbers…well, there’s plenty of reasons for people to be jealous. I live a pretty thrilling life, you know?

One thing that is concerning me about my fast-paced life, though, is the increasingly frequent elevator malfunctions. It’s always fun to find that the elevators are refusing to go down to the floor you’re on, so you have to walk UP possibly seven flights of stairs. Once, I had to walk up from the second floor to the seventh floor. At the fifth floor I had decided that THIS WAS IT. I’M GOING TO DIE COVERED IN ORANGE CHEETO POWDER AND CRADLING MY EMPTY FRESCA CAN. (I made it out alive, but barely). And then there was that one time where the doors opened and the actual elevator stall was one foot higher than the ground I was on that was exciting, too.

The further along I am in the pregnancy (third trimester is just in a few days!!) the more convinced I am that I’m going to get stuck in the elevator and be forced to deliver Noah there, Saved By the Bell style.

Trust me, while I wouldn’t mind staring at Mark-Paul Gosselaar (hey-o!) for a long minute, the mental freak-out of having a baby WHILE IN AN ELEVATOR haunts me with every ride. You’re probably thinking that I’m going a little overboard with my thoughts, but I’ve already been stuck in a bathtub and trapped in a bathroom stall so far this pregnancy.

A little elevator baby drama isn’t completely out of the question.