By Ernst Stumbo

*This is a satirical piece, not meant to be taken seriously*

The principal duty of an elevator is to take you from one floor of a building to another floor (of the same building hopefully).

This is my personal account of how the elevator I was in stopped working.

Consider myself a simple man. I like board games, cooking, and leftist politics. One day, I was doing one of my three hobbies (cooking) and I was cleaning up and I had my arms full of pots and pans. I decided that I was going to take the elevator from the basement of my dorm building to the floor I live on. Life was going just fine until the elevator decided to go on strike.

My first reaction was to think that the elevator door was stuck and I was on the right floor. Well, let’s just say I am not writing this article because the elevator door got stuck. So I hit the alarm button a couple of times. And the next thing that you would expect happened. Absolutely nothing. I assumed that somebody would eventually come so I waited for about 10 minutes. No one showed up.

The next chapter of this story was that I called public safety, they were extremely helpful and arrived within minutes. They told me I was stuck between two floors and they couldn’t just open a door to get me out (this disproves the stuck door theory). They eventually reset the power and I got off of the elevator without the elevator digesting me like a Venus Fly Trap.

Now if I was a more eloquent person, I would try to tie this in to a point about disability access or use this experience as a cudgel to wield against Berea College’s occasional incompetence, but I will leave that as an exercise for the reader.