October 25, 2000

Wait a minute, this is a good story

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       For most of us, life is full of waiting rooms, waiting lists and waiting games. We wait in line at the supermarket, wait for tax returns, even wait for our literal and figurative ships to come in to port. After all, good things come to those that wait.
      Unfortunately, I'm usually among the "he who hesitates is lost" cheap seats at the sporting event known as life.
      Ironically, I was born to get ahead. Having family from New York and initially raised outside the beltway of Washington DC - the capital of personal gain - by birthright I should cut in lines, not wait in them. Instead, at an impressionable age, we moved to Michigan and I became a patience is a virtue mid-Westerner. I've been waiting ever since.
      With a last name that falls in the middle of the alphabet, waiting has never been about being first. Early on in kindergarten I realized the Andrews of the world would always go before me. I was just grateful my last name wasn't Zarnecki - alphabetically speaking.
      Conceptually, for a child, waiting can be as difficult to grasp as the chin-up bar in gym class. Christmas, birthdays, the last day of school, five minutes - days or seconds it all added up to waiting.
      There were, however, good and bad types of waiting. "Wait until your father gets home:" bad. "Wait until your father gets home" (said to your sister): good. Your Sea Monkies finally arriving in the mail after 4-6 weeks of waiting: good. Waiting for them to stop floating belly up: bad.
      While our concept of time improves as an adult, it doesn't make waiting easier. Especially when you're trapped in an elevator.
      Now my father would be the first to admit his patience, or lack their of, won't earn him sainthood status. Waiting inside a hotel elevator for more than an hour, however, would try the likes of Job, let alone a guy named Frank. Waiting takes on new meaning inside a 6x8x9 steel box suspended 60 feet above terra firma.
      When the elevator stopped at the fifth floor my father naturally waited for the door to open. It was a few seconds of the next 90 minutes of waiting. Luckily, only two minutes had been spent with the nervous little old lady whose only words between the lobby and her second-floor stop were: "I hate these things."
      Time is of the essence when you're trapped in an elevator. After all, you can only read the inspection notice so many times. The rest of your time is spent doing the following:
      - After 5 minutes: Bang on the sound proof door for help.
      - After 11 minutes: Cautiously push the 'alarm' button.
      - After 15 minutes: Attempt to push 'alarm' button through the control panel.
      - After 30 minutes: Talk with some guy named "John" from hotel security who asks if you're all right every five minutes. At least that is what you think he said through the sound proof door. That is you think his name is John, perhaps it was Godot.
      - After 40 minutes: Tell John that you recently failed a medical 'stress test' and the current situation isn't boding well. You are now asked if you're all right every two minutes.
      - After 50 minutes: John informs you about the panel hiding a phone with a direct line to the Otis elevator company.
      - After 50 minutes and one second: Wonder why John didn't share this information earlier. Rip off panel and make call.
      - After 60 minutes: Elevator representative assures you help is on the way. She also reassures you they are not driving all the way from Detroit.
      - After 80 minutes: Help arrives and tries to open the door with a crowbar. This evidently only works in the movies.
      - After 89 minutes: Elevator begins descending back to the lobby. You thank God the little old lady got off at the second floor - and you didn't have that second cup of coffee.
      - After 90 minutes: Elevator door opens. After an hour and thirty minutes you've arrived exactly where you started.
      After being trapped in a casino hotel elevator for more than an hour, one would expect a sincere apology. Instead, my father received a gift basket; complete with logo embroidered hat, golf shirt and a coffee mug. A pair of dice were also thrown in (evidently to roll when choosing which elevator to ride).
      "You want me to wear a shirt promoting this place?," my father asked dumbfoundly. I later suggested he write "I WAS TRAPPED IN AN ELEVATOR FOR 90 MINUTES AT ..." in marker next to the casino logo.
      Whoever uttered the platitude "good things come to those that wait" evidently never ordered Sea Monkies. They must have also taken the stairs.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail at gleiva@gtherald.com.