Trapped
"Whatever you do, " said the woman, "don't try to use the lifts. My husband has been stuck in this one for more than an hour."
This was in the multi-storey car park in Candleriggs, just a short walk from tonight's Young Jazz event at the Old Fruitmarket. I'd left my hired car on the third floor and do remember thinking the lift doors were a bit slow to open when I'd got out. Now, three hours later, I was trying to shove a ten pound note into an unwilling ticket payment machine when the woman told me about her husband's plight.
"You mean he's in there?" I said, pointing at the lift . At that point I saw some fingers claw at the door edge and a muffled voice suggested that if I helped pull from the other side it might just budge. But it was no use and I worried we might be doing more harm than good. Broken fingers wouldn't help the situation.
The woman told me she had called for help an an attendant had appeared, but now he had gone on to find someone else. She looked about fifty (the husband had sounded much older). She had tears in her eyes and patted her chest to indicate that her heart was fluttering. She look really distressed and I could only imagine what the poor hubby was going through.
"Can I get you something? Water maybe."
"No, no, don't worry about me. I'll just wait for the experts and if they don't show up I'll call the Fire Brigade."
I felt pretty useless and too guilt-stricken to just do nothing, so I decided to ignore her instructions and went out on to Trongate in search of a place to buy bottled water. Not easy at half past ten at night, but I found a burger bar, bought a cup of hot, sweet tea, a bottle of water and picked up a straw. I reckoned there might be enough space between the door and the wall to squeeze a straw through.
But all of this took far too long and by the time I got back the couple had gone. The lift doors were still closed but there was no 'Out of Order' sign.
It's waiting for its next victim.
Comments
or to comment.