I don't have a fear of elevators. How could I, when they are the very thing that get me up to a second, third floor and beyond? But you know when you get that bad feeling--you know the one: when you are about to do something that may not turn out right?
Our neighborhood library had a Christmas puppet show we attended. And it wouldn't be a trip to the library if the boys couldn't play on the computers. (Yes, we do go for books, too). Mind you, the childrens section (with computers) is about 6 steps down to a lower level. Now, it used to be that there was no elevator to get down there. Imagine much younger children and trying to coax them back upstairs to go home. Ha.
Needless to say, we boycotted that library until they got an elevator. So enter, the elevator, or maybe that's too glamourous. We'll call it a wheelchair lift. I push the button to open the door, roll on in, the door shuts behind me, and I push the button to go downstairs. Remember the bad feeling I had before? Yep, it's the one that says this lift might stop half way down. And stop it did. Thank God my children are older, and they were happily preoccupied with the computers.
How embarrassing is it to have to yell for someone--yell--in a library? But yell I did. I shouted for my oldest son to go get a librarian...story to be continued.
