MOST people have a phobia, or a fear, or some sort. Some of them are completely rational, others just plain nutty.
For example, I know someone who is terrified of frogs – yep, the (mostly) harmless little hoppers – yet has no qualms about sweeping a snake into a bucket and lobbing it outside, even if it’s a venomous one.
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“Ag, it’s just a night adder.” No thanks… would rather take my chances with the amphibians.
Which brings me to lifts, or elevators.
Often, in interview type profiles on people, the question is asked: If you were stuck in a lift for a few hours, who would you like to be stuck with?
The usual answers are either a supermodel, famous politician or great sportsman, or all of the above.
That question is massively overrated. And a few hours is an extremely long time.
Not too long ago yours truly had a few anxious seconds in an elevator, while on the way out of a mall with wife, kids and shopping trolley.
As a child my parents took our family to the Cango Caves in Oudtshoorn. That was an experience sufficiently claustrophobic that closed spaces have never really been my favourite since. Give me the golf course anyday.
So, there we were in the elevator… the doors closed. My wife pressed ‘up’ and nothing happened. The doors opened again and we were still on ground floor.
She pressed the ‘up’ arrow again, and again, nothing happened.
The air suddenly became heavy and sweat started to form on the back of my neck. My pulse quickened, I have to admit.
It felt like an age – longer than it takes a stalactite to form in a cave somewhere in Oudtshoorn – for the doors to open again.
When if finally did, we were still on the ground floor, but by then we’d both had enough, almost ran out, and took the trolley the long way round.
I wasn’t comfortable being ‘stuck’ for what was probably 20 seconds. Forget about a few hours, even if it’s with a supermodel.
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