How my face got brutally sandwiched between elevator doors
Of all stupid things I experienced in my life (soon readable in my book ‘Surviving in a Fake World’); this was the day to add a totally almost catastrophic mildly cursed incident to my awesome and deeply concerning why-would-you-do-that-for-god’s-sake-repertoire-list.
Once again the universe had selected me to test how much nonsense one human nervous system can survive before legally turning into soup.
Every time I think life has finally stopped throwing random nonsense at my face, it shows up wearing exaggerated detective glasses and a mustache like, surprise, bitch. here’s another ridiculous situation you’ll have to explain all this to other adults without sounding completely like a overheated faxmachine on steroids.
I swear my guardian angel quit years ago and was replaced by three drunken hamsters in a trenchcoat.
This afternoon we went for a simple tea at the SS Rotterdam. You know the first ever cruiseship who brought Dutch emigrants to the USA, New York to be exact because they thought they were better of there and to seek gold and diamonds and clotskifraibimbletralala-burgers and hidden UFO’s and to become famous in Hollywood. No judgement from my part.
We had a lovely afternoon and juggled with the baby in public. Which caused the necessary stares, but who cares and that rhymes, hooray for the good times and that rhymes one again and where is this going…
I have to warn you in advance: don’t ever trust a hippie woman if you ever meet one, especially if they carry luggage as if she is going to relocate to an old abandoned haunted warehouse for six to eight business years.
After the wonderful and exhausting tea treatment by The Love Boat crew members in their awesome witte neatly ironed outfits, I was asking for captain Stubing, but the waiter guy, who almost went through the Maindeck roof with his head, and who wasn’t even Isaac, absolutely gave me a look of what the inflatable cemetery owl is that completely unstable breadstick of a woman talking about.
I meant to say: after the tea party it was already time to go home. We took another series of baby-pictures which almost caused the sirenes to go off because apparently we yelled to loud.
But that isn’t surprising at all since we’re always that loud and weird, have a 86 year old über-mother who is occasionally deaf and we had to laugh for the picture all simultaneously.
Normally we take pics with three of us generations, but now its one heck of a tour to also make the baby laugh for the pic which at home is never a problem at all and does she even laugh if you’re caughtup in a complicated pull your head out of the baby box bars nightmare.
Arriving at the elevator section, I pressed the button and we all waited for the you- never-know-if-you-get-stuck-for-ever-in-this-shady-anti-walk-transporter, while my mom was acting like ahe never grew up past an annoying 8 year old boy who just consumed six kilos of sugar and who was very busy actively sabotaging the entire situation and keeping us on the once emigration to the USA boat until the whole Love Boat experience revival episodes air again.
Suddenly the elevator doors opened and because other people were also waiting, we wanted to get in fast because we were first there.
I moved in the tricky box, but my mom had other plans and walked upon a totally real hippie woman with a thousand pieces of the most insane colorful layered clothes I’d ever seen, which didnt even look as clothes but more like a confused explosion inside a secondhand curtain factory.
The Hippie woman stood there with a big trolly and her companians: approx 6000 piled-up suitcases.
And obviously also wanted to take the same elevator and seemed slightly in a hurry, but noway in the world that was going to happen because mom went over to keep a major confusion and mostly confused conversation going on about that 800 suitcases aren’t really necessary on a cruise ship which is an actual point there because unless you’re planning to relocate an entire medium-sized village to the Mediterranean, there really is a practical upper limit to luggage.
How many cabins does she need with her entourage. She can’t unpack, because than you need a cabin double the size.
Is her mother with her? And how many luggage handlers have joined the cruise permanently?
And what in earthsname she had packed in tis suitcases?!
In the meantime I was running totally stressed as a sabotaged freaking caregiver and daughter slash referee maniac the elevator in and out, yelling to my mom that she had to get in now.
Like now now now!!!
In my embarrassment I offered the woman to get in the elevator in our place, but she was so kind, she wanted us to go because after all we were first.
The moment was so hectic and confusing that at the last moment I went in the elevator or the head-eater and ear-ripper, the doors suddenly closed with the speed of a full operating high-speed train.
Suddenly I saw my life flashing by, with the most disturbing events of my life; the moment I almost got swallowed by a monkey included and then I saw the biggest door in human history approaching my wrinkled panic face.
I suddenly felt as if I got cracked by a bulldozer who had too much to drink and my face got stuck between the two attacking elevator doors.
I heard panic from hubby and daughter as if they were witnessing my final moments being squeezed by a possessed laundry wringer.
The demonic wringer machine, I mean elevator threw all my limbs towards the open part trying to make the sensor open the damn doors again and I stood there brutally sandwiched like a terrified almost ex-human and already was under the impression I had entered the other side or hell and already wanted to start poltergeisting highly annoying people.
None of that actually happened because my entire brain (from what was left) got squeezed out of my ears, but then my ears transformed in huge holes because they brutally got ripped off and I saw one of them crawling on the floor yelling I urgently need psychological assistance.
I’m not sure why all this happened: why would you crush yourself in an f-ing moving closet.
Which totally makes no sense because elevators are designed for transportation and not for trying to set a new human compression record.
I totally was clearly either drugged or temporarily disconnected from my survival instincts.
Majorly.
You’d think after this many catastrophically unnecessary incidents I would develop wisdom, caution or at least a basic survival instinct.
But apparently my brain continues operating like a retarded little baby bird trying to flap some wings, but those are totally duct taped up, while swirling around in a washing machine together with expired haunted socks, but somehow still full of optimism.
So naturally, yet another deeply embarrassing situation unfolded around me which left me standing there looking totally confused and questioning if it was now the perfect time to consider signing up for nun and hide and protect myself in a real monastery.
Not sure if that would be a good idea though, because you never know what can happen there that could accidentally wipe out an entire nun and bible intitution.
With my track record, I’d probably trip over a monk’s sandal, than fall against something historically significant and end up being permanently banned from organized religion by Wednesday afternoon.
PS: In the absence of a photo of my face wedged between two elevator doors, you’ll just have to make do with the moment just before… that loud family photo, which you can’t actually hear because, well… it’s a photo. You know.
