It was a typical day at work; I was running errands around the hospital to break up the mind-numbing number-crunching that kept me chained to my desk all morning. However, little did this mild-mannered employee realize that Fate would soon disrupt her usual routine and test her SuperHuman Powers of intellect and strength.
As I stepped aboard the Emergency Room elevator to return to my office, I was joined by three patients headed for the second floor. Unfortunately, the nervous lady last in couldn't figure out where exactly she needed to go, for instead of just pressing "2", she proceeded to slam each and every &%^*#&'ing button on the panel. As the doors closed, I sensed trouble was afoot; I spyed the floor indicator display as it began to flash...
... and wasn't the least bit surprised that we were headed nowhere fast.
Blast! The Evil Elevator had us in it's clutches!
It wouldn't go up.
It wouldn't go down.
It wouldn't respond to the Open Door button!
Profanity spewed from Nervous Lady informing us that she would "freak out in about two seconds". Apparently, she was two seconds ahead of her freaking-out schedule. The other passengers - two elderly gentlemen, simply stared into space.
As the only employee, I sprang into action. Hitting the "Help" button, I got on the intercom and informed the Operator of our predicament. While she put me on hold waiting for a response from Security, I thought the soothing elevator music that was piping in through the speaker would, at the very least, calm Nervous Lady a tad.
It did not. After being informed that someone was on their way, a further stream of four letter words flew from her mouth.
It was then that I noticed the door had a crack of light showing through... so I stepped forward, squeezed my fingers in between the steel barrier and wall and pulled with all my SuperPower.
Success! Luckily we weren't between floors; I was able to pry open the door so that all the captives inside would enjoy the sweet, sweet taste of freedom once more.
And without a word of gratitude from any of them, the three patients exited, asking for directions to the nearest stairwell.
"No thanks are necessary, my good citizens!" I exclaimed.
(No I didn't have the guts to actually say that. Instead I pushed my mild-mannered glasses up on my nose and pointed them in the right direction).
As the rescue forces arrived (erm, two Security guards) I assured them we were all okay, but that the elevator was out of commission. Their casual grunt of acknowledgement was less than I expected.
At least my secret identity is still intact.
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