Sunday, December 9, 2012

I Think We Are Stuck

“I think we are stuck.” She says.

She’s right. We are. This lift has lodged between the 9th and 10th floors.

“That’s not ideal.” I say. “Should we press the alarm button?”

“Lets give it a second.” She says.

She’s pretty this girl. Really pretty. I was pleased when she got in the lift. In a way stuck in a lift, just the two of us should be some sort of dream scenario.

“I definitely think we are stuck.” She says.

She presses the alarm button. A shrill ding surrounds the lift and runs down the floors.

Silence. Should probably introduce myself.  Make her know I’m not a rapist or something.

“I’m Kevin.” I say.

“Oh…hi. I’m Lisa,” She says.

We awkwardly shake hands.

Lisa. Pretty Lisa.

“Been stuck in a lift before?” I say.

I’m as rubbish talking to girls in odd situations as much as I am in natural ones.

“No.” She says with a laugh. “You?”

“Once actually yeah. With my Nan in Brighton. Stuck for about 15 minutes. So don’t worry, you are with a pro.” I say.

She does a nervous laugh. Turns away from me for a second. Probably rolling her eyes.

I might as well keep up this elevator pitch for love.

“Do you work here?” I ask.

“Yeah. On 15th floor.” She says.

“At American Airlines?” I say.

“Yep…sadly.” She says.

“That bad ay?” I say.

“That bad.” She says “You?”

“Well I was. Last day today, at the bank on the ground floor. Was just going up here to hand in my security pass.” I say.

“Well, you are certainly having a last day to remember. “ She says.  “Why are you leaving? That’s too personal a question. Sorry. I’m really bad at that. My ex always told me I was too invasive.”

Ex? Invasive? This is interesting. Clever and single. Might as well use that line I always do when a girl mentions her ex boyfriend.

“Well, he sounds like a dickhead.” I say.

She laughs. Which is good. That line has been known to backfire.

“Yeah he was. A cheating bastard dickhead.” She says.

She looks at me for second. I think she just looked at me as a person for the first time. No longer just a background extra. Might as well answer her question.

“I’m moving back home. My mum is sick. Well she’s dying actually.” I say.

“Well that is just awful.” She says.

“It is. And I appreciate you not saying you are sorry. I’m sick of people saying that.” I say.

“Yeah, I hate that too.” She says.  “Are you moving far?”

“Yeah, back down south. Boscombe. One of the worst places in England. It’s essentially a worse version of Bournemouth. Imagine that?” I say.

She looks a bit sad.

The lift then jolts into action.

“Oh, here we go.” She says.

The lift is soon at the 15th floor. The doors open.

She turns to me. I look at her.

“Bye then… Well good luck with everything Kevin.” She says as she steps out.

I should ask her number. Or kiss her. Or something. I should definitely do something. Say something.

The doors begin to close.

“Yeah, thanks, bye.” I say.

The doors close. 

Tom Greaney.

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