Well, I came back from lunch a little early and was grabbed the first elevator heading up. Full of suits from the higher floors as per usual, none of my kind at all... Headphones in and loud enough so everyone else can hear them, shirt proclaiming my love of poodle's for breakfast and beanie on - I may have stood out a little.

noticeable lack of movement after a second and I notice a bit of head scratching from my vertical traveling companions, naturally I pop a headphone out...



The screens are displaying 'Engine Start Failure' instead of the time, floor and destination as per usual. Someone hits the Open Door and the beeping stops. Doors close and we elevate as people are meant to - For about eight seconds...



'Engine Start Failure'

At this point I share a moment with Stuart, who is an Accountant up on 13, our eyes meet and a moment unbroken by words passes between us. Unfortunately its one of forced politeness mixed with anxiousness and an uncomfortable feeling that could be panic.

Roger, Accounts Manager on 17 takes charge - he is a very 'take charge' kind of guy - and opens the emergency panel. There passes four minutes of forced pleasantries and general feelings of ill will towards elevator designers, engineers and maintenance in this building.

I think it Fazzy, the Regional Distribution Manager who is only coming to pick up his girlfriend for lunch makes the best remark of this short period:

"You'd think in fucking two-thousand and fucking five we wouldn't have elevators that broke down! Yeh its me babe, I'm stuck in the fucking elevator coming up..." The last bit into his mobile phone. I think that was where I became aware that he could quite possibly be an idiot.

Well, Roger gets someone on the line and they natter for a while and I'm tempted to pop my other headphone back in to avoid any further pleasantries but decide against it as I am beginning to become very keen indeed on exiting this elevator post haste. In my mind I am wondering why I took an express - the ones that only service the top nine floors - and how much oxygen is left in here? Are these things air-tight or what!?

Roger calmly tells us they 'cannot fix it remotely and are coming on-site to handle it.' Roger is very calm, restlessness and awkward sideways glances passes like a wave over the group.

"Fuck it." I squeak, my voice still ain't one hundred percent since losing it. Maybe I should see a doctor after all. "I'm getting comfortable."

I drop to the floor and stretch out my legs. This presents a new problem: Seven men of pretty similar height - around the six-ish mark - wanting to sit down in an elevator and as big as an elevator may seem when you're standing nine, sitting seven is a different vertical immobile object.

After a while we've settled in and a couple of conversations flow and Stuart tells a joke - I kid you not, an accountant told a joke unprompted! Well we passed a few back and forth before they started to get a little more blue and I soon forgot about pitting my fingernails against the steel of the doors for escape and was having a great laugh.

Then it happened, all the movement and body contortions from laughing caused me to drop a fart - Its not as bad as you might think though. It wasn't some sound barrier breaking, after beer smelling, machine gun from hell... It was silent as a dog whistle and at that point I was the only one who knew what had passed: About thirty liters of the vilest swamp gas and methane ever produced by man!

It took me about thirty seconds of cautious and very, very subtle sniffing to smell it but there it was. I did well to mask my contempt and not cough up a lung as it infiltrated my airways.

Alas, I was caught in the most delicate position known to vertical immobile object friends and my mind waged the hundred year war of debates in about ten seconds.

Well, sad to say I panicked and didn't say a thing, I waited until I was sure I seen a subtle sideways glance mis-placed between myself and Ben, the PA from 18 and made sure my glance was more noticeable and in Bens direction. It didn't take them long to place the blame and the chatter dried up pretty quickly... Well, almost...

"Which one of you dirty pricks cut one!?" Demanded Fazzy, but it came out a lot funnier with his accent and while a distinctly heard chuckles I can't say for sure who laughed first but Ben was one of the first and was hence blame was laid by Fazzy's dirty look at him.

Well, the rest of the story is a bunch of getting to know some neighbors I never knew I had and a bit of male bonding - All of which is surpassed by the fart story - and finally being released 45 minutes after I had entered the lift.

Oh, and I did call my trainer to let him know I'd be late back from lunch but I was in the building :)