Twenty-eleven hours, I looked at my watch as the metal walled box I was travelling in shuddered to a halt in a series of heart stopping jerks, to the accompaniment of frightening bangs and clanks. The lights dimmed, only the emergency lighting remained on, the elevator was stuck somewhere between the twenty-fourth and twentieth floors. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, heart hammering a staccato rat-a-tat-tat on my ribs as my fear level peaked.
My fertile imagination, fuelled by watching too many disaster movies ran wild. In my mind I saw a series of cinematographic stop motion images, showing the strands of the steel cables breaking one by one until the lift car hung by a thread. Taking a series of deep breaths I regained control of my mind and shut out the thoughts.
My sole companion was a woman in her thirties who looked like a typical secretary. She visibly relaxed when I spoke. "Shall I phone or will you."
"You're a woman!" She exclaimed. Funny how even in this age of sex equality, in a city where women executives are almost as common as males, there is still a preconception that all motorcycle couriers are male. Looking at the woman I realised that only a few minutes earlier she had signed for the first of the three packages I had delivered to firms on the top five floors of Mithras Tower. Her reaction was proof that in our leathers we are seen as objects rather than people. Then I realised I was equally guilty of pigeonholing people, initially I had only seen a mid-thirties ash-blonde office worker.
"I'll phone." She said opening the little flap that concealed the emergency phone. There was no instantaneous answer when she lifted the receiver, as we waited both of us grew more concerned. Nervously she tapped a pointed toe on the floor, I twisted and wrung at the clipboard in my hand.
"Hello Rapide Elevator and Escalator Services, Frank speaking. How may I help?"
"We are stuck near the top of Mithras Tower."
"Are you actually in the elevator?" Frank asked.
"Yes." She replied.
"What a pratt, why else would we be calling!" I muttered under my breath.
"How many of you are there?"
"Two of us."
"That's good at least you are not overcrowded. I am afraid you are going to be there for some time, construction work has damaged an electricity sub-station and the whole of Olympia Square has no power. Your lift is one of more than twenty lifts in need of rescue."
I snatched the phone from the woman. "How long is some time?" I demanded.
"Oh six maybe eight hours, less if they restore the power."
The man's cheery almost off-hand voice set my nerves on edge. I pictured him sitting in a comfortable office, with nothing to do other than answer the telephone. I was seething, stuck in a lift I was loosing money. To be honest all these feelings were probably triggered by my mild claustrophobia, not that the walls were pressing in on me nor was I screaming, but I did feel trapped. This was not the first time I had been trapped in a lift. I was sure it would not be the last time - lifts were an occupational hazard for everyone whose work took them into the tall office blocks of the City of London.
"Shit." The woman said kicking off the shoe of the foot she had been tapping. "Everything always goes wrong at the same time look a bloody hole." She said pointing to her big toe, which protruded through the gossamer of her tights. When she lifted her skirt I was treated to a tantalisingly swift flash of red knickers and a pair of shapely thighs. She hooked her thumb into the waistband of her tights and slid them down to her knees. Sitting down on the floor she removed her other shoe and completed removing the holed hose. "Might as well sit down, it's more comfortable than standing. You know that's my third pair of tights this week, of course you wouldn't have that problem."
I was dying for a cigarette, if the power was down the smoke detector would be disabled, I pulled a pack from my bag and lit up. The lift had an invitingly deep pile carpet, I lowered myself to the floor.
The woman coughed. Here goes, she is going to complain about my smoking. She coughed again. I looked at her. "Do you think I could have one of those?" I handed her a cigarette and my lighter. "Thanks, I gave up two years ago to get the job. There is a rigid no smoking rule throughout the tower."
I unzipped my leather jacket, took it off and rolled it up as a pillow. "Your making yourself comfortable." The woman laughed nervously.
"May as well." I replied. "Six hours is a long time."
"This is terrible already I feels like the walls are closing in on us."
"It could be worse. At least we are not in one of those external lifts, imagine sitting in one of those glass capsules exposed to everyone's gaze like an animal in a zoo." I said recalling the last time I had been stuck and that had only lasted for about two hours.
We fell silent, maybe I dozed. I became aware of a rhythmic sound. She was lying on her back one leg bent, the other crossed over it swinging, I smiled - she was masturbating. Watching her made me feel horny. The idea of making a move on her had not entered my mind, not even when she had removed her tights but this seemed to be an open invitation.
