Who knew some mindless channel surfing at the ripe age of 10 years old would lead me to my irrational fear.
10 year-old-me surfed past and landed on an episode of My Little Pony where those little ponies got stuck in their makeshift elevator. Chills were instantly sent down my spine and my fear was born. Elevators.
Who was going to tell me you can get stuck in one of them and it’ll take you hours sometimes to get rescued??
Thank god the fear is not debilitating or else I would probably never go inside a building with more than 6 or 7 flights of stairs but I’m not going to lie, I do hold my breath most of the time when I’m in an elevator. Not because someone let it rip (usually), but out of pure anxiety that I may not step out of the elevator for hours.
My brain also scatters with escape routes and Plan B’s in the unlikely (but not ridiculously impossible) scenario that the elevator stops. Especially if I’m alone, which rarely ever happens. If I can, I will take the stairs.
Last year I decided to be bold and take the elevator in one of the Academic Buildings at Rutgers by myself. I vividly remember clicking floor 3. I watched as the elevator skipped 3 and went up to 4, didn’t open, and then went down and opened up to the ground floor.
Composed, but riddled with the thought that my ultimate fear almost came true, I graciously stepped out onto the ground floor of the Academic Building and promptly took the stairs up to the 3rd floor. I honestly don’t think I took an elevator the rest of the semester.
The fear is semi-irrational if I’m being honest, but nonetheless, it is a fear that I own up to. As long as I’m not alone or no one lets one rip while I’m going in one, then I’ll take the elevator.
Jadyn Berrian 