Lift me up
Have you ever had to sing Believe by Cher whilst farting so people think the smell is coming out of your mouth?
I hate lifts.
There, I said it. If I had a choice, I would choose an escalator over the slow-moving box of smells and unkind people. A lift lacks everything I love: a fragrance that doesn’t make me want to throw up. I might get to the point where I’m so sick of people that I’ll just projectile vomit on them instead of trying to talk to them. I don’t really see any other ideas.
I have had many bad experiences with lifts. In a building with fewer than 15 floors, I would choose the stairs every time, as they are far less embarrassing than getting a lift, the combination of the small space with literally no escape between floors, and me, who you may have gotten by now, is a loose cannon. All the unluckiness in the entire world is thrown in my direction at the worst point, but it’s all my own fault.
STAIRWAY TO GROUND
I’ve only had one issue on a staircase, which was brought on by childishness. I was jumping down the stairs as I like a bit of adrenaline rush at 7 in the morning. I was going down these stairs so fast, and I was almost doing a flight in one jump. On one of these flights, I had jumped so there was no way I could stop myself. The door at the bottom of the flight of stairs swung open, and I knew I had fucked up as a guy walked through the door like anyone would with a coffee and his laptop. His laptop wasn’t at max grip; it was balanced between his hand and chest, which is important to the story. As I was flying in his direction, or more, he was getting in the way of my landing position, he turned to look at me. His reflexes, or lack thereof, were coming to light. He threw the laptop and the coffee onto the floor. Probably wasn’t a good idea to do the laptop and coffee at the same time, as when they hit the floor, they combined, a very romantic moment for two inanimate objects. So sweet. But it gets worse, or better, depending on which end of the staircase you are.
I’d like to one day do a superhero landing, but with my hypermobility, I don’t think it’s possible to land on my knees without a crunch. But I had my chance. I didn’t know how to land, so I went knees first, and I took this man out. I surfed him down the straight, and it did look quite painful. So that’s my one story of a bad staircase experience.
A lift, on the other hand, I have shat myself in public on numerous occasions. I have also vomited on 4 tubes and on other modes of transport, so in a confined space, I am always scared of what might come out. I jumped in the lift, and it was empty; it was my time to shine. Obviously, I wasn’t going to shit myself as that’s vile, but I mean, I just needed to fart, that’s all, and I did. I’m also a big fan of karaoke in a lift. There’s no music, there should be music, so I have to be creative and make my own. I once got some acapella going in a lift, so anything’s possible.
MY MELTDOWN
Once I had trumped, the doors opened. I thought maybe the smell had enough time to pack up and move out. Obviously, life doesn’t go the way you want, so once the lift was packed, the smell started to linger, overpower, sort of marinating the air and moisture. It was warming up. The lift was moving rather slowly, and I was standing at the back. In a normal situation, others would say nothing and blame someone else if the worst came to worst. I chose the not very used technique of blaming my own bad breath and then sort of ran with this joke by continuing my karaoke. Have you ever had to sing Believe by Cher whilst farting so people think the smell is coming out of your mouth? That sums up one experience I’ve had in a lift.