No, not the Rogan-Franco one. Not the Kelly-Drumpf one either (but didn't he say he'd never talk with her?) My interview yesterday. As mentioned, it went well. It's what happened AFTER that took some time to digest. I guess I was still trying to come down (no pun intended) from being stuck in the building elevator with Mr. Claustrophobia. You know, I'm not completely afraid of tight spaces. After all, I squeeze my formidable okole into a pair of clean panties every morning. I have more of an issue with trypophobia (seriously, don't google that with images) or acrophobia. However, being stuck with someone who is claustrophobic can really make you feel like you are too.
It's good I remembered I'm a mother because the soothing voices and the memories of Lamaze patterned breathing soon kicked in. It had to. I went into survival mode myself, because this young man was completely coming unglued in a matter of minutes. He did what everyone does as a first response; he pushed buttons. He pushed all the floor buttons, he pushed the open/close buttons, and finally he found the one button that would soon prove to become my own undoing if I didn't calm him down...he found the red emergency button.
Now, this is the third time in my life I've been stuck in an elevator. The first time, I was 7 months pregnant with Averie. Luckily, it was in the building that my OB-GYN was in, and I was stuck with two other expectant mothers. One of them was due the following day. Funny thing is, none of us panicked. In fact, after opening the little door with the phone and letting whomever was on the other end know we were stuck, we started talking about; what else?; all things babies. Childbirth methods, labor fears, mothering fears, nursing, etc. The time passed quickly, no one went into labor, and soon we were moving again and out of the elevator. I became friends with one of those women and we're still in contact today. I call this a happy accident. A good kind of "stuck in elevator" story, if you will.
The second time I was stuck in an elevator was between the 6th and 7th floor of the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. We were in Sin City to celebrate Caris' 21st birthday. Where else would we stay for a Caris celebration, than a hotel that is smothered in pink? After having had some fun the night before at a dinner show, Averie, Caris, and Caitlyn were still asleep. I'm an early bird, and as it was only 5 am and I knew I had some time to kill before the girls would be up and around, I got dressed and went down to the casino to have some coffee and spin the wheel of fortune. Three hours and the most expensive cups of coffee later, I thought it was time to get back upstairs and rouse the gang for breakfast. I stopped at the coffee bar to get three cappuccinos, then headed to the elevator. Cue dramatic music of pending doom (or is it?) here.
I got into the empty elevator, turned to push the button for the 9th floor while balancing a tray of coffee cups, then looked up to see a VERY large wall of a man standing next to me. He wore a big Stetson, some fine looking Justin boots (I asked), a big silver belt buckle, probably his "going to a barn-raising party" finery (pearl snap buttons), and a very pretty silver engraved bolo tie. He looked at me, smiled and nodded, raised his hand to his hat, I thought to tip it, but he actually surprised me by removing it and holding it next to him in one hand. In the other hand, he held a very large mug type glass in the shape of a boot. Yes, a boot. It wasn't a Justin (I asked). It was just at this point that the elevator came to a very sudden halt, jostling me enough to push my back against the wall of the elevator while trying my best to make sure I didn't spill hot coffee. I felt a big hand steady my arm. To which, this booming voice over the top of my head (he was a good 6'7" and probably 350 lbs. easy) says; "You okay, Darlin?" For some stupid reason, I turned into a teenaged girl because my only response was to giggle. Good gravy, I giggled. No one has called me "Darlin" since I lei'd Toby Keith (oh yes, I did). Well, he and my sweet Texas friend, Boogie (Damn, I miss him). Apparently, I blushed too because I could feel it. I assured him I was fine, thanked him for his chivalry, and for the next 45 minutes, again after calmly calling someone, we waited and passed the time. I did tease him about the boot mug. His turn to blush. He asked if it were filled with rye would he be redeemed. I laughed and told him it probably made it worse in a couple ways. I reminded him that it was 8 am and held up my coffee tray, and said he might not want his friends to see him holding that mug; rye or no rye. He reminded me it was Vegas and he'd been playing poker, so he honestly wasn't aware what time it was, and he was just now, on his way up to bed. Fair note. Soon, the doors opened, albeit between floors, but they got us within an easy hop down.
He wished my daughter a happy birthday, I wished him a good rest, we thanked each other for passing the time so easily, then he donned his beautiful Stetson, and we parted ways. My phone rang. It was Caris wondering where I was. "I have coffee (it was cold). And a story (heartwarming). I'll be right there." Another good "stuck in an elevator" story. Then, there's yesterday.
After merely three minutes, my friend started to sweat, swear, and generally freak out. He was young, maybe 30. He kept looking at me like I needed to save him. So, I calmly asked him if he knew how to meditate. He looked at me like I had two heads and started pushing that red button again. Let me tell any of you out there who don't know what that red button does; it is a bell. A VERY VERY LOUD BELL. Like a school fire drill bell. Like the bell that goes off in a firehouse when there's an emergency. THAT kind of bell. Now, put that bell in a very small, closed in elevator, and add it to the yelling of a panicked human being. Not good. I asked him to please calm down. We were not in a tower. We were in an atrium-style building with an open courtyard. Only 4 floors. I know none of this mattered to him, but I thought if by talking I could get him to stop yelling and pushing that damn bell, I could maintain my own sanity. I knew there were people all over the building and in the courtyard that could definitely hear us, and help would arrive soon. I asked him about himself, why he was in the building, if he was coming or going, where he was going after this ("a bar", he responded. "me too", I thought). He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned against the wall. "See?" I said. "You DO know how to meditate!" He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. We heard someone outside say that help was coming. I envisioned this:
What we got was basically this:
But, at least I avoided this (sort of):
And made it back to this:
Oh yeah, the interview. You know the drill. Don't call us, we'll call you. On to the next adventure.