Social Butterfly, Peanut and I were heading up to our room late Friday night. We jumped into an elevator with a couple of Shores water polo players and three other people. If you're counting, that's eight people. And no, it wasn't an especially large elevator.
We were all going to the sixth floor. At least, we were trying to get to the sixth floor. Ding. Nothing. Push "open door." Nothing. Push the button to try another floor. Still nothing.
The women standing next to me was disctinctly nonplussed. "I thought about going to the bathroom in the lobby, but decided to just wait until I got to my room."
One of the boys picked up the phone to call for help. I had the fleeting thought that it might be better if one of the adults called because in a hotel full of youth athletes a prank might not be unexpected.
I was right.
Minutes later a disembodied voice floated in. "Are you stuck in there?"
Ummm, yes, we are.
THEN they got maintanence.
The total time we were stuck was less than 15 minutes--which is plenty long enough to review every movie scene in which people are stuck in an elevator and dwell mightily on those scenes in which a cable breaks and the inhabitants shriek in terror as they plunge to their death. Plus, it's really hot in an elevator with eight people.
It was so stressful I had to take the elevator back downstairs for another complimentary warm, gooey, Doubletree chocolate chip cookie.