The Shadow in the Elevator
A short story.
It was my final interview for a dream job that I had applied for months ago. I nailed the Zoom interviews and here I am, walking into the headquarters of my future employer. Dressed in a suit and tie, I head into the elevator to meet my new boss with ten minutes to spare — the punctuality of a professional. I swiftly move past the gentleman in the elevator and politely ask “13 please.” He presses the button. “Thank you,” I tell him.
As I stand behind him, I look at the stainless steel and catch that his printed visitor pass says “DAVID” backwards in the reflection. “What are the chances?” I passively think to myself. I check my phone once more to look at the clock. Perfect timing.
The elevator ascends to the 3rd floor where the gentleman gets off. I swipe over to my social media apps to kill some time between floors. In my peripheral vision the gentleman exits the elevator, but I notice the doors are staying open longer than usual. As I’m staring at my phone I glance to the “close door” button and press it. The doors begin closing, and in that second, I notice all of the floor buttons are lit up. “Fuck me!” I blurt out loud. I extend my arm to hopefully trigger the door sensor, but it’s too late.
“Are you fucking kidding me,” I say out loud. I press the “open door” button maniacally and the elevator proceeds to move to the next floor. No big deal, I’ll get off on the next floor and take the stairs. I can’t be late to my job interview. Plus — what the fuck? Did that guy press all the elevator buttons before he got off? What a dick move and I don’t even know that guy. Who does that? The elevator gets to the next floor and stops. I wait impatiently for the doors to open and nothing happens.
The lights go out.
“Oh fuck,” I exclaim. I turn the flashlight on in my phone to shine it on the emergency button. I press it and it lights up. I also notice a phone on the button panel. I pick it up and it begins to ring.
“Maintenance,” the man on the other line answered.
“Yes, I’m stuck in the elevator on the fourth floor, the lights are out.”
“Ok, we’ll send someone to check on it,” he said.
“Thanks, I have a job interview on the 13th floor, so if you could hurry that would be great,” I said in a panic.
“Sir, we don’t have a thirteenth floor, but we’ll send someone as soon as possible, hang tight.” I heard the slight chuckle in his voice and he hung up.
I look at the buttons as they are now my only source of light in this darkness. There is no 13th floor. How could this be? I opened my phone to check my email confirmation of the interview location. Suite 1304. I didn’t bother to look at the office directory in the lobby and just assumed it would be on the 13th floor. I call the number in the email to notify them that I’m not only running late, but I’m stuck in the fucking elevator. I dial the number. No sound. I look at my phone. No service.
I sit down in the elevator and put my hands to my head and wipe them down my face, pulling down on my lips, smearing my anguish down to my chin. “This is my life,” I whisper in my head. The light from the building floor shines a sliver through the doors like a reminder of the opportunity I’m missing right now, illuminating the possibilities of what could have been. A shadow behind me as a reminder of my past failings as a hopeless narrative now runs through my head. It seems like these types of things keep happening to me over and over again. It’s like I don’t have the ability to avoid them. I did everything I thought I could to prepare for this moment but here I am — stuck.
Why would someone press a floor number that doesn’t exist, then proceed to push all of the buttons just to sabotage my hard work? “DAVID” it said on his name tag. The fucking irony.
Suddenly, the elevator begins to move upward and I immediately stand up, hoping that the doors will open on the next floor. As the elevator begins to move, I look up to watch the floor number increase on the display. It stops. Nothing. I press the “open doors” button repeatedly. Still nothing. My heart sinks as I lean the back of my head against the elevator wall and slide my back to sit down again. My head slumps down and I hug my knees as if I were a cowering dog in a cage. I begin to feel the depression simmer inside of me.
Why should I even try when this keeps happening to me? No matter how much I try and take control, the outcome is always elusive. I try to better myself and put in the effort to shed some optimism in my life with a new career and here I am, literally in the dark. Just like the black hole that is the void of any substantial relationship, one after the other, no matter how hard I try it never works out. That, or I stay too long, thinking that somehow I can change things or that the person I’m with will one day change themselves and understand me. I see the red flags now like a driver on a race car speedway, my heart getting splattered on the windshield of my car with every lesson I didn’t learn. I may be the driver of the car but the proverbial race track of life has me going in circles. Now here I am in an actual transportation mechanism on a journey that has become stagnant.
The elevator begins to move and I again stand up to await its arrival but I realize it’s going back down to the floor below me. It stops and the doors once again don’t budge. I push the “open doors” button repeatedly but to no avail. I try and pry the doors open with my hands. I’m strong but apparently not that strong. I pick up the maintenance phone again and it rings and rings. No answer. I pull out my phone to check the time. I’m definitely late for my interview.
I sit back down on the back wall peering through the elevator doors and I see faint moving shadows obscuring the light. “Help! I’m stuck in the elevator!” I scream. At this point I stand up and pound on the doors in hope to get someone’s attention. Maybe they can press the outside button for me to open the doors and I can get the fuck out of here. I wait. No response. I begin to contemplate how long I’m going to be in here.
I sit back down, take a deep breathe and close my eyes. “DAVID did this” I think to myself with a half snicker and sigh. I glance at the 22 lights all lit up in the elevator, while a half-wit fantasy to maneuver my way out of here from the ceiling panels laughs its way into my brain. I look up. A mirror, of course. A reflection of myself to look back on. The peculiarity of thinking to myself “where are you now?” as I gaze upward, thinking my “default half-hearted last resort” will come when I really need that “thing” that I only call on when things are really desperate. He didn’t answer the phone that’s for damn sure. And while “DAVID” pushed the buttons to create this dilemma, it is now myself I stare at as I pray for my rescue. “Did I do this to myself?” I question as the elevator walls begin to narrow themselves, poking at the claustrophobic hamster running the maze in my brain right now. I have been an unwilling participant in “Isolation 101,” forfeiting any normalcy in my life for the majority of this year. I didn’t ask for any of the bullshit from 2020, but I do have to ask — what did I do to deserve this?
I lift my head from my folded arms as a crouch in the corner of the elevator. I begin to examine the interior of the elevator as if I am sitting within the construct of my own consciousness. The sequence of events that got me in this predicament begins to play out in my head. What is it that I actually have control over and what did I think I had control over?
Being early to an interview is always the best move to impress your future employer, especially at your dream job. But do I really know how this interview is going to go? No I don’t. Showing up 10 minutes early is an awareness of “professionalism” that is a cognitive bias that I have been conditioned to believe from one source or another throughout my life.The perception that somehow showing up early is going to give a positive impression is just an assumption of what someone else may think of me. My self-consciousness of someone else being conscious of me. This awareness muddles how I feel about myself because now I’m judging my self-worth or potential on what is essentially a guess. I need to trust MY SELF. Who is doing the trusting? ME. I did everything to be here now, but until I receive the feedback of “thanks for coming early” then I’ll actually never know if the action of showing up early was one that mattered in the eyes of another.
Now that I think about it, I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before an interview. At some point I trusted the information that had made its way into the part of my brain that feels this to be some kind knowledge that is advantageous in gaining employment. But the actual feedback that this is true has actually never been presented to me. Almost like the news media, Facebook comments and posts, Instagram human highlight reels, and sometimes even a friend or loved one’s advice — receiving feedback through my own internal experience is the only way to avoid the delusion of thinking I know anything at all.
Sure, I can have confidence through my own preparation, be a “professional” according to a societal standard and try and make an impression. But that’s all it is: an impression. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m overestimating my ability to control an event, when in fact I don’t have any control of the outcome, I can only influence the outcome.
What would happen if I just showed up on time? What “dream” do I really expect out of this new job? Sure, this is what I want now, I set a goal, took a chance and filled out the application, but I have to recognize that I truly don’t have the last word in whether I get the job or not. This may seem kind of obvious, but I have to understand that my own expectations have brought me to the conclusion that while I may be the perfect candidate for the job, I’m attaching myself to an outcome that truly hasn’t presented itself yet.
Kind of like being in the race car all over again in my relationships with a 10 minute advantage. I showed up as the “qualified professional” and now I realize it was just an illusion that I could somehow control the world around me at will, let alone how that person feels about me or how situations presented themselves to change my perception of them. To understand this is not only frustrating in itself, but it also brings an awareness of how I blame myself for certain aspects of my life. I blame myself for failing if it wasn’t my choice to slam on the brakes of my past relationships, or if it was my choice to cross the finish line. The disappointment of another failed attempt at what I considered at the time “a dream relationship” is a lasting one. I tried to influence a positive outcome, be as authentic as I can be, essentially tried to control how I relate and respond to another person, but ultimately — even though I may be the one driving the car — it is the car itself that has the REAL control.
In the last few moments I’ve faced the hard truths that I am not in control of the car I am in hurtling me through this life, and that I cannot control the people I share space with. As I look around this empty elevator, the realization feels more apt than ever. Unlike the old elevator cars in the past, there was no steel cage sliding door to this ride, but there was a proverbial bell boy, and certainly a shitty one. I scurried past the man present in the elevator when I first arrived without a second thought.
I now think to myself, who or what kind of person would do such a thing? Well? I would. I know in the twisted corners of my sense of humor, I’ve played out that scenario in my head, pressing all the floor buttons as a silly prank on some unsuspecting prude couple in a fancy hotel I certainly don’t belong in. I could just imagine the look on those people’s faces as I ran down the hallway laughing. It is me that is now sitting in a metal box that holds the awareness of the result of such a foolish act. The letters “D-A-V-I-D” printed out on the name tag of the person who left me in this predicament was perhaps my own reflection of my persona and how it responds to these types of circumstances.
It could have been my own visitor pass that I saw in the stainless steel when I first stepped on this elevator. When I asked “13 please” to ascend to a floor that I now know doesn’t exist, the man pressing the buttons could have been the bell boy in my own head. My subconscious and conscious now the two steel cables suspending the weight of my current reality, leaving me in the darkness of uncertainty. The moment I enter a particular situation, my mind has the impulse to light up every level of stress in my head without a second thought. The name of the man in the elevator wasn’t “DAVID” — it was “ANXIETY.”
As my past memories begin to flood inside my head, it seems as though I have convinced myself to surrender to the repetition of these instances as the same old bullshit. The buttons on the elevator might as well read “F, M and L” as the passivity of emotion surrounding my life as a whole has been just accepting these unfortunate situations as my own “new normal.” The more and more I experience failure or a negative outcome, it seems the more likely I am not even willing to try at all. Is this just my luck? Or is this my own conditioning to associate the negative aspects of my life as being utterly hopeless, and me being utterly helpless? I have essentially taught myself that the every day, unfavorable occurrences that happen to me illicit the same response: stress, anger, depression, or anxiety. Of course, I know that I shouldn’t completely ignore these feelings, but I may be inadvertently creating a reward/reinforcement behavior inside myself.
Life rewards me with adversity, and I reinforce my hardship with a self-destructive narrative. Or better yet, I can create a post on Facebook telling people about my adversity and the likes and comments just reinforce my truth about how much my life sucks sometimes. Much like pressing the “doors open” button over and over again, I’m convincing myself that somehow I can use reasoning not to find the actual truth about a situation, but invent arguments to support my deep intuitive beliefs that somehow doing the same thing over and over again is going to change the result. I’ve found out the hard way that straight jackets only come in one color, and come to think of it, this elevator might as well be a padded cell.
Sitting in your own moment of self-defeat is never pleasant, and trying to understand why and how I got here is exhausting. But as I examine the moments that put me in this desolate state of affairs, I realize that I am trying to make sense of a story that has already written itself up until this very moment. My anger, regret, and frustration for what has happened to me in the past won’t change anything. My worry and anxiety about the “what if’s” and now the “how long,” won’t change my future. The only thing I can control is my perception of my here and now. While I sit here in this stagnant piece of metal, I have to perceive my situation and my surroundings as my own canvass of reality. Black has always been my favorite color, it may have a reputation of being ominous or even depressing, but even an artist needs this color to darken the brightest color in his palette to create an image of peace and optimism.
Sometimes we close our eyes to imagine ourselves on a beautiful beach somewhere on a beautiful island. But just as I imagine my “dream job” being the missing destination in my life, I have to acknowledge that I may get sand in my strawberry daiquiri, or perhaps my boss may end up being a jerk. This may sound like pessimism but to me it’s not. Sometimes it’s so easy to assume negativity rather than just contemplate uncertainty, and uncertainty doesn’t always have to be dreadful. It is important to have the insight to know when things are unhealthy for your body and mind, but just as important to have the motivation to take action to change your circumstance if things are unpleasant. I know that my ability to change my circumstances are not always up to me, but how I perceive my circumstances is. I recall a quote from Viktor Frankl — “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”
I know this experience and 2020 as a whole will have an enduring impact on my life (not to mention a damn good story to tell), but it’s up to me to reframe it into something bigger than what my environment, and even how the people around me may perceive it. I don’t believe in the power of positive thinking or spiritual bypassing, but I do believe in emotional agility and using my emotions as a compass — not to shy away from fear and uncertainty, but to move towards it. When I stepped on this elevator, I knew I was moving towards what I perceived to be a brighter future, but here I am literally sitting in darkness. This is no different than how my life has changed for better or for worse, every moment, leading up until right now. If I think about it, I don’t know what the condition of this elevator is even in. The power is out, but are the cables even safe? Do we even think about this when the doors open and we walk into our next destination or even make our next decision? We usually don’t. Who wants to live their life with fear around every corner? I certainly don’t, but sometimes we unconsciously do this to ourselves.
Unlike this elevator, I have to understand that life is not linear. Perhaps instead of rehashing the past and all my failings in life because I am in this inconvenient circumstance, I should reflect on the strength that I had to make it this far — not to mention how good a glass of water would taste right now.
Fear and uncertainty isn’t something to be afraid of, but a profound emotion that is literally wired inside our brains. It is an essential experience that links us with everyone around us. I am a flawed person amongst flawed people. Moving towards fear doesn’t make me fearless, it just brings me closer to the truth about myself. Not just what I am able to accomplish but what I am truly worthy of. Our own limiting beliefs will keep us from moving forward in a positive direction because we tend to reflect on the moments of failure and adversity much more frequently in our minds rather than our moments of triumph or success.
As I look at the reflection of myself in the mirror above me, I no longer see a victim but a person in an unfortunate circumstance. I may have missed an interview but given the unique occurrence here, I may get a second chance. Sitting here for what seems to be forever, I need to start recognizing and challenging my negative thoughts in order to develop more positive behaviors. It’s easy to go down the rabbit hole of despair when we have been programmed or conditioned throughout our whole lives, whether it be by an unfortunate incident, bad relationships, abuse or trauma.
This whole year seems to have been a programming of negativity — whether it be from news headlines, social media, or our own friends or relatives talking about the dumpster fire of 2020. The manner in which you explain how and why any unpleasant situation came about determines what vantage point in which you operate from. Am I operating from a self-defeating narrative, or am I reflecting on how much worse off things could be and holding a sacred place for gratitude in times like this? The answer is in the mirror after all.
It also may be in the sound of metal pounding coming from the top of the elevator. I’m puzzled, optimistic and terrified all at the same time. The lights come on in the elevator and I immediately stand up with an exuberance of relief. I let out a big sigh before I push the “L” button to get back to the lower level so I can get phone service and call my potential employer. The elevator begins to descend and the hopes of salvaging whatever chances I have of getting the job begin to overwhelm me. The elevator stops on the lower level and I can hear the bustling of people in the lobby. However, the doors don’t open. “Come the fuck on” I exclaim as I press the “doors open” button even more furiously. I notice the emergency light is off so they must have fixed it. I look at the buttons for each floor and they are no longer on as well. However, as I look at the panel I realize the only button that hasn’t been pushed is the “close doors” button, so on an impractical whim — I press it. The doors open.
Standing in front of me waiting to get on the elevator is my recruiter and my potential future boss. I am half embarrassed, yet half relieved and begin to explain to them the situation I was just in. “Oh my God, are you kidding?” one of them says in amusement, “We were actually wondering if you had gotten our text message, sorry to send it to you last minute.” My phone chimes, and I look down at my phone and see a text message alert that didn’t appear until I had service just now. “Yeah, we had a meeting unexpectedly run over and needed to push back your interview an hour, but it seems as though you’re actually right on time, we didn’t even know these elevators were down.”
I look at the text message and it says “Sorry, but we had a meeting run over so we have to push back the interview an hour, if you can come back or wait in the lobby, we will buy lunch! Otherwise contact us for a reschedule, thanks for understanding!” Smile emoji. Time received: ten minutes before the interview. The smile emoji seems like a half sinister grin, like as if life were laughing at me after the misfortune I was in. We all get back in the elevator and I notice one of them pushes the 14th floor button and the “close door” button. The elevator begins to ascend. I stand in astonishment as I push back the feeling of being stuck in this elevator with the both of them. I retighten my tie and mentally prepare for the interview. One thing I may have on my side is sympathy at this point.
The doors open and we enter the office and walk down the hallway to the conference room. I sit down at the end of the long table. “I bet you’re thirsty, would you like some water?” One of them asks. “Sure, make it a double!” I say jokingly. They both laugh and he comes back shortly with a plastic cup of water. I stare at the cup of water and I notice the amount of water in the cup. It certainly doesn’t look like a double, but it is exactly what I need. I take a sip and we begin the interview.
