Ireland Elevator

A Story by Kaitlyn W

First Post: Here's a story about my strange experience in Ireland.

The trademark smell of an old city wafted through my nose. The streets of Ireland were slick with rain that day and I enjoyed the moisture-saturated air. The dreary weather gave me comfort; I was in a strange new country and rain was something familiar to me. It was 3 pm and family and I had just left the thing that everyone comes to Ireland for...a pub. Don’t worry, being of a young age, I only had a burger and lemon-tainted water. With our stomachs full of food and our hands full of umbrellas we made a mad dash for the hotel. It was a quaint little place, at least 50 years old but still in shape. Well, mostly.

My dad, always a gentleman, rushed ahead of us and opened up the door. Accepting this act of chivalry, our feet crossed the building’s threshold. Musty air rushed into my lungs. My dad felt a little queasy so he took the stairs to our room on the second floor. I followed my mom and sister across the carpeted floor, weaving in and out of the maroon upholstered chairs that littered the lobby of the hotel. We passed two large french doors that led to the dinner theater room. Every night people pay to eat there while they watch an Irish-dancing/comedy show. It sounded wonderful but much to our dismay my family couldn’t afford it. This was due to that fact that most of our funds were spent on beer that weekend.

We continued to a small nook in the corner of the lobby that housed the elevator and a rack of multi-colored brochures. We paged through the glossy covers; boat tours, concerts, beer tours (we had already completed that one), dances, etc. All amazing opportunities that we were looking forward to. My sister and I got bored with the many words on these pages and decided to take the elevator up to join my dad in our room. I reached my small hand out and pressed the cold, white, plastic button. It dimly glowed yellow and we heard a slow, screeching sound. After about a minute, the heavy metal elevator doors slid open. The building was only two stories high, so the long descent of the elevator should have been our first hint that something seemed off. However, I had recently turned 10 and my brain wasn’t trained to tell what was sketchy and what wasn’t.

My sister and I stepped into the metal tin and pressed a button labeled with the number two. The doors slowly began to slide shut. They had moved about two inches inward when my mom decided to jump in with us. That act was something that, to this day, I am still grateful for. The two doors finally met in the middle with a metallic “click” sound, and we began our slow journey up. Somewhere halfway between the first and second floor the old elevator creaked to a bone-chilling halt. The doors didn’t open. A sharp noise shot through the small cabin and the lights turned out.

The experience looked like it could be straight out of a horror movie. My mom, my sister, and I were trapped in an elevator with no power. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all the sudden a demon apparated into our temporary prison. Two children’s voices called out almost simultaneously, “Mom?” My sister’s breathing quickened. She had been dealing with anxiety her whole life and this was traumatizing her. With tears streaming down her face she sank to a seated position in the corner. My mom did her best to console her as she hammered the emergency button. The lights flicked on. And then off. We were out of power again. The emergency button didn’t work. No one knew we were trapped there.

Keeping calm in a time of stress, my mom promptly called my dad. Thankfully, he picked up by the third ring. He rushed to the front desk. While he did that my sister remained in her state of panic. I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life. Danger! This had never happened to me before. I had never been put in a situation where I might not be safe. I was excited! Adrenaline ran through me. What if the elevator dropped? What if it exploded? I didn’t know.

An experience like this was so foreign to me. I had been living in Ramstein, Germany for about a year. We spent every weekend visiting a museum, a different country, or an old historic castle. Those years in Europe should have seemed extraordinary to me! I had countless remarkable experiences that some people can only dream about, and I was only 10. Unfortunately, being only 10, I didn’t realize that what I had been forced to do could’ve been borderline magical. I groaned when I heard the word “museum.” The Louvre took up 3 hours of my life that I would’ve rather spent playing Mario Kart on my Wii. Giant stone castles, rich with history, were all the same. Yet, the elevator felt different. It was not a museum. It was not a castle. It was risky and new, and I loved it.

My excitement only heightened when I heard the muffled voices of my dad and the manager drift up from somewhere below us. A muffled Irish accent called to us, “Hang tight ladies, we’ll have you out in no time.” The elevator creaked in slow motion about one foot lower. Then another foot. The familiar voice of my father reached out with a two calm words, “Almost there.” The elevator continued to inch down until a three and a half foot space emerged between the bottom of the elevator and the ceiling of the first floor. The light filtered in through that space and I could see the top of my dad’s head. At the time, his hair still grew thick and light brown, with just specks of gray. My sister had begun to calm down, but our adventure wasn’t over yet.

The Irish accent, not muffled anymore, spoke to us again. “Ok ladies, I’m going to need you to jump down to the first floor. Your dad and I will catch you.” Being as short as I was, that seemed like a monumental drop. In reality it stretched only about six or seven feet. My sister headed out first. She jumped into my dad’s arms with full faith that he would catch her. He did, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he lowered her to the ground. “Kaitlyn, you’re next,” my dad said, prompting me to jump out. Unlike my sister, I did not have faith that I would be safely caught. Being larger than the average 10 year old, I had been thoroughly convinced that I weighed the same as a small elephant. I did not think my dad could hold my weight. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t stay in that elevator. So I scooted to the edge of my prison and dangled my legs off into the empty space. I gripped the frigid, rusty metal edge of the elevator floor. My stomach lurched as I willed myself to push off. As it turned out, my weight did not equal that of a baby elephant. My dad caught me and I stood home-free! I celebrated my escape with a sliver of disappointment. The danger and exhilaration had passed.

After we had all jumped out, the manager led us into the main lobby while profusely apologizing. At the time, I believed that his compassion for our trauma proved to be genuine. Looking back at it now, I think the main thing on his mind was avoiding being sued. Lucky for us, the manager did not realize that my family was not the kind to sue for freak accidents. Because of this ignorance, he offered us a free dinner with a show. We ate until we couldn’t eat anymore, laughed, and enjoyed the show to its fullest extent. I left Ireland with a taste for adventure, a good story, and a full stomach.