1) Jump up and down in a vain – and ludicrous – attempt to balance the car.
2) Chant “Oh my!” repeatedly – fifty-seven times to be precise – in an attempt to drive yourself further off the rails.
3) Pace back and forth, but only between one foot of space.
4) Push every button on the elevator control panel. Every. Single. Button.
5) Holler “HELP!” at passing elevator cars.
6) Use the elevator panic button to call the switchboard operator every ten minutes and say “I have to pee!”
7) Ask me to pry open the doors and then scream “NO!!” when I begin to do so, then again when I stop.
8) Use the elevator panic button to call switchboard every fifteen minutes sand say “Now I have to poop!
9) Check your watch every two minutes and update me on the time, inflecting your voice just a little more each time.
10) Ignore the fact that you’re safe, comfortable and merely inconvenienced, and instead focus on every negative detail of your life – which you then share with me.
11) Expect me to have a civil conversation with you while I’m suppressing my urge to remove your head from your quivering body.
And that’s how I spent exactly sixty-minutes of my Sunday, folks, stuck in an elevator with an irrational, older female. My guests were long gone when I finally arrived at the room with their bags, they didn’t leave me a tip – which I suppose is understandable, but still sucks – and I actually had to pee as well.
But you didn’t hear me whining about it.