This is a weird elevator, I think as I walk forward into the shaft. On the inside of the silvery metal is a yellow chain link cage that extends up to my hips. Must be because it’s a freight elevator. When I turn to see the buttons for the floors, there are four of them. Only two are labeled, so I select the one with ’Lobby’ written underneath. As soon as the button lights up, I see the faint scratches the maintenance workers have put above the button I just pressed ‘10th floor’.
I shrug. Guess I’ll be a little late to my meeting. Then I stare in horror as the elevator lurches up. The silver doors aren’t coming with me. Only the yellow cage seems to be rising. The yellow cage that is completely open on the front. I step to the far side of the elevator and watch as the concrete floors give way to more silver doors.
3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8…
Then on the eighth floor, there is no door. The elevator starts lurching forward. This is no elevator, just some type of cable car to transport freight. I stare down at the shop floor twenty feet below me. I’m too afraid to stand in the middle of the cage, so the elevator starts to slightly swing with each passing foot. A cable above my head is what it is traveling on, but there seems to be two bars at the top I can grab on to. Shakily I raise my hands above my head and hold on as the elevator swings more and more with each passing foot. My palms are sweaty and holding onto the bars overhead becomes increasingly difficult. The muscles in my arms are already aching. A product of the awkward position and how tense they are.
Up another shaft, then moved over the 9th floor in a similar fashion. I start counting in my head to calm my nerves.
“One one thousand one… One one thousand two…”
When I get to thirteen for the second time, I realize that in my anxiety I went back to ten instead of twenty. I correct.
“One twenty thousand four… One twenty thousand five…”
Closing my eyes, I realize I’m all the way to fifty by the time the cable car moves forward on the tenth floor. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as it stops, and I open my eyes.
Instead of the tenth floor, I’m now in front of a zipline. A horribly constructed zipline. I can see the lags in the cord in between each anchor point. In front of me, a bunch of people traveling along the line. I watch as each of their momentum decreases just before they reach the anchor point. There is no way down. And no harnesses. I’m too afraid to look down and see how far up I really am. I think I’m outside the building at this point. Ten floors up.
Wiping my sweaty palms as best I can, I reach for the bars that will propel me along this nightmare of a descent. The line ahead of me seems to be moving and so I think I have enough space to avoid running into any of them. The last thing I want is to get tangled up with someone else at this height. There is no other way down. The longer I stay up here, the shakier my hands will get. Until it becomes impossible to grip anything. Just don’t look down.
At first, I speedily travel down the line. Faster than the other thrill-seekers that signed up for this trip, but then I slow. It must have some mechanism built in to prevent people from getting too close. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep enough momentum. I’d hate to get stuck up here, holding on for dear life.
The guy in front of me is moving incredibly slow. As I get closer, I realize his grip on the bar failed and now he’s desperately trying to descend like some perverse version of monkey bars. The safety mechanism might not prevent me running into him. We’ll both be knocked off. I could follow his example and try and climb down the line, but I’m barely holding on as it is. And I’ll just be in the same position he is, hoping the next rider doesn’t run me over.
I hate to say it, but when he falls, I’m glad. I’m glad that it was him and not me. Luckily, I don’t hear the thump. We must be up too high.
Now the line is slowing to a crawl as we come around a bend. Three people in front of me, a girl struggles to keep hold. After she falls, I hear the metallic clang of her head hitting some support beam. There are no zip-liners after the bend, why are we not moving?
Then I see the problem. Some guy stopped to take pictures. Seriously? That girl just died because of you. I do it. I do what I told myself I wouldn’t do. I look down.
We’re not ten stories up, only fifteen feet above cushy wet ground. The guy in front of me that fell is happily waving. The girl wasn’t as lucky. She is on her knees, dazed from the strike against the support structure. A group of people are surrounding her, asking if she’s okay. She isn’t responding to their questions.
The guy taking pictures sees her and dismisses her injuries. “She’s fine. Just a little bump to the head.”
I could drop down right now. I’d be safe. But I continue holding on. I don’t want to hit my head like she did. As the zip-line reaches the ground I happily hop off. My hands are red from the grip I had on the bar, but I’m down. I’m safe. I walk by the girl, still unresponsive. I’m late for my meeting.
The pillow is wet with sweat when I wake from my nightmare. From now on, I’m only taking the stairs.