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July 10, 2000: Five Minutes
A Reflection on Foreign Service Life
By Ann Morel Bushnell
I rushed from the car that I had hurriedly parked on Rue de Lausanne, one of Geneva's busiest streets, as I said: "Be back in five quick minutes." Surely the elevator up to the 10th floor and back, including racing into the apartment to get the package I so stupidly forgot, wouldn't take any longer than that.
As long as I could remember I'd ridden elevators reluctantly, and never, but never would I enter one that was already crowded. The fear of being entrapped and helpless in close quarters was a familiar nightmare as my heart would race and produce buckets of sweat till the elevator door would finally open at my destination. But in the short few weeks I'd been living in temporary quarters while house hunting, I'd already grown used to this one.
Nevertheless, I was glad the elevator was empty as I rushed in under the pressure of my five-minute limit. I smiled back at the emptiness as if to acknowledge a special favor; well, "Phobias die hard," I thought.
The elevator doors closed at the pace of a weary turtle on his Sunday outing. Finally we started to ascend, as I exhaled a burden of air. Suddenly a huge jolt and total darkness knocked me to the floor. Fear and shock instantly enveloped me. I knew the elevator would descend uncontrollably--at a speed that even the worst horror scene I could imagine would equal. I stood up and with both arms flailing against the elevator wall where I knew the controls were, pushed and pounded indiscriminately-- here must be an emergency button!
My life raced before me, colorfully and urgently at first, and then more slowly as the scenes fell away like the pieces in a kaleidoscope. I imagined the darkness bouncing around as if someone was moving my head in all directions, held up by the weight of a ten-ton truck from below the neck. The panic that totally overwhelmed me forced my mind, still metal sharp from fear, to return to the fall--the imminent and fatal fall to the deep bottom. Was I imagining it or was I actually half lying and half sitting in the corner, head on my knees, hugging my shins? After a still and expectant moment that seemed like ages, when even breathing seemed to intrude, nothing happened. The darkness began to change tones, making me blink as if to comprehend it so I would not be afraid. Then all at once the noise came clearly, as my mind sharpened and my limbs went limp:
Clank, clank. clank ---- "Quelle etage?" came the distant woman's voice. Clank, clank, clank ----
"Je ne sais pas," I answered with a dry throat. "Pas d'electricite," the same woman's voice added. Clank, clank, clank --- the high heels were descending the stairwell, I decided.
I noticed my breathing now, as my fingers found my warm face, and knew I was o.k. The feeling of doom was barely more than a strong Adam's apple gulp behind me when I nearly convulsed in a new panic; "Oh my God! My little boys! Oh, no!" I heard myself say. But hadn't I told them not to get out of the car under any circumstances? And hadn't I told them I'd be back in a quick five minutes?
"HELP! HELP! I'm in the elevator! Can someone hear me?"
"Madame, I am here", I heard a man say in English. "I am on the sixth floor and you are stuck between the sixth and seventh floors. We have called the elevator company and they will be here in precisely a half hour to let you out." "Precisely" is so Swiss, I thought.
"Please go out the front entrance and get my three little boys from my white volkswagen," I pleaded. "It is directly parked at the entrance and has diplomatic plates. Please tell them I said it is OK to come out and tell them I am stuck or I would come myself."
Precisely one half hour later, the Swiss mechanic removed a large wall panel, exposing a small portion of the elevator. My widened eyes blinked at the imposing light that chased the darkness and revealed expectant faces looking up at me from below. My eager body lowered itself into the up stretched arms; then I recognized the two rescuing voices, now comforting me softly.
Scurrying along to the Concierge's office, I stopped short at the door to view the boys calmly drinking their Coca-Colas as they colored in their new coloring books. As I squatted down to hug my youngest, they all said: "Oh hi, Mom, where's the package?"
"Package? What package?" I asked.
About the Author: Ann Morel Bushnell of Scotch Plains, New Jersey accompanied her husband, John Bushnell, overseas in 1962 to Bogota, and subsequently to assignments in the Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Geneva, Argentina and Panama before retirement in 1992. Ann enjoyed her active role as a Foreign Service spouse abroad, serving in several different official roles on the Board of AAFSW and at Bookfair while in D.C., and received the Ambassador's Award for Outstanding Volunteerism in 1987 in Buenos Aires. At present, Ann is studying Philosophy toward a degree at Marymount University, teaching Adult ESL for Fairfax County, and is tutoring ESL for the English Speaking Union while enjoying her eight grandchildren.