Scene: Two People Who Hate Each Other, Stuck In An Elevator For Eleven Hours

It was just another Friday at the office. Frank stood waiting for the Elevators, the New York Times tucked under his right arm, a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand. He looked down at his watch as the seconds ticked away. Finally he heard the familiar “Bing,” and the elevator doors opened. Just before Frank stepped inside, he noticed standing towards the back of the crowded elevator stood Glen. Frank and Glen made eye contact, glaring at one another. With another “Bing,” the elevator set off for the next floor.

On the eighth floor, the elevators doors opened, and the elevator emptied except for Frank and Glen. “Look at him over there,” thought Frank looking at Glen, “All dapper in his tailored suit, with his fancy Italian leather briefcase, what a jerk.”

“That Frank is a real dick,” Glen thought staring down Frank, “I can’t believe he got the promotion that was promised to me, what a tool.”

The elevator doors slid shut as Frank pressed the button for the ninth floor. He took a sip of his coffee, and opened the paper with a snap, completely ignoring Glen. All of a sudden a metallic screech filled the air. The lights pulsed and went out. Only a faint red glow from the emergency light filled the elevator. “American Pie” played faintly over the loudspeaker.

“There must be something wrong with the elevator,” thought Frank out loud.

“No shit Sherlock,” Glen muttered “Way to state the obvious.”

“I wasn’t talking to YOU,” said Frank crouching down to find the emergency hatch. He really hoped that the elevator started working again; he was claustrophobic, and tended to lose his mind, if trapped in a confined space for long periods.  Frank found what he was looking for. The hatch was locked. “Fuck,” he yelled, slamming his fist into the side of the elevator.

“Can’t take the pressure,” Glen sneered. It was satisfying to see that asshole Frank crumble. It was further proof to Glen, management made a big mistake when they gave that promotion to Frank. The turd couldn’t even handle being trapped in an elevator for a few minutes. Glen took a seat on the ground, waiting for the maintenance team to arrive.

Frank did not hear Glen. He was lost in his own world, sitting on the ground holding his head between his knees rocking back and forth. He just wanted to the voiced to stop, to be safe behind his desk, working on a report. Two hours passed this way, neither gentlemen speaking to the other.

Snapping his head up, Frank looked around as if someone had called his name. His eyes settled on Glen. The red emergency light made Glen’s eyes glow, and he began to laugh evilly. Frank quickly fumbled in his shirt pocket, and pulled out a fork. He cowered in the corner, whimpering, holding the fork defensively.

“What a nut job.” thought Glen, eyeing Frank and his fork warily.

Without warning, Frank jumped to his feet in one agile move. He ran at Glen, fork raised above his head, screaming like a banshee. Glen shielded himself with his briefcase just in time, as Frank stabbed it repeatedly and with great effort. Exhausted, Frank finally slumped on the ground next to Glen, breathing heavily.

“What’s your problem dude?” asked Glen angrily “That’s Italian leather! You had better buy me a new one!”

“I’m sorry,” Frank apologized, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I get claustrophobic,  sometimes I lose touch with reality.”

“Well get ahold of yourself man.” Glen said decisively looking down at his watch. He sent up a silent prayer that maintenance would fix the elevator soon. Another two hours passed without a word. It began to get hot, beads of sweat started to form on Glen’s forehead. He took off his tie and tied it around his head to stop the sweat from dripping.

After five hours had passed, Glen’s stomach began to rumble. He was getting very hungry, he wished he would have eaten breakfast that morning. The crinkling sound of a bag caught his attention. Next to him Frank was stuffing his face with chips. After every handful, he would thoroughly lick his fingers.

“Where did you get those?” asked Glen indignantly. Hell the dude tried to stab him, the least he could do was share this chips.

“They were in my pocket,” said Frank innocently through a mouthful of chips.

“Well?” Glen implied.

“Well what?” asked Frank.

“Are you going to share?” Glen asked pointedly.

“Hell no.” said Frank rudely, moving the bag of chips away from Glen.

Glen had just about as much as his patients could take. First Frank The Douche freaks out and tries to stab him with a fork, and then he pulls a bag of chips out of nowhere and won’t share with him? Fuck this shit. Glen reached out and slapped the bag of chips out of Frank’s hands, spilling them all over the floor. Frank looked at Glen, Glen looked at Frank. Time seemed to pass as if in slow motion.

After what seemed like forever, the pair scrambled for the chips on the floor. A slapping fest ensued. Frank slapped  away any chips that Glen tried to put in his mouth, and Glen slapped away any chips the Frank tried to put in his mouth. This went on for about forty-five minutes. At the end of the War Of The Chips, both Frank and Glen sat on either side of the elevator greedily munching on their stash of chips, glaring at one another.

Two more hours passed. Frank started carving a message into the side of the elevator with his fork. It read: “To my children, if Daddy does not make it back, it is because his co-worker Glen, cannibalized him.” Frank eyed Glen after he wrote the last part of that message. Glen was unstable, Frank was sure of it.

“Ha!” laughed Glen scornfully from the other side of the elevator. “I would not cannibalize you, I would never get the taste of shit out of my mouth!”

“Like you would taste any better?” countered Frank.

“Pretty sure I don’t taste like shit,” said Glen confidently.

“So you’ve tried a Glen steak, have you?” asked Frank mockingly.

“Shut up, and keep drawing your stick figures over there. You are taking up too much of the oxygen in this place.” Glen said irritably.

Two more hours passed. Glen reached into his briefcase and pulled out his Ukulele. He was an award winning Ukulele player. He began to strum out the melody to “I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts.”  Frank started to sing out “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, every ball you throw will make me rich. There stands my wife, the idol of me life. Singing roll a bowl a ball a penny a pitch,” in an imagined British accent. For the remainder of the time, Frank and Glen sat playing “I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts.” Dissecting it and each taking turns singing.

At fifteen minutes to eleven, the elevator doors opened a crack and a maintenance man shouted to the pair below “We should have you out of there in no time. It took longer than expected because someone in the elevator pushed the emergency stop button. Glen glared hard at Frank, and Frank glared right back.