Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

The Elevator Incident or "Die Hard -- The Remake"

In looking back upon the events of this morning, the ominous signs were present. She was actually ready to go at 8:25. "I'm ready early," she claimed. Yes, early. I had walked the dogs at 6, put a load in the washer, then the dryer, made and drank two lattes, read all the news that's fit to print and some that wasn't, checked my e-mail, downloaded court documents, added stuff to my calendar, fed the dogs, ate M&M chocolate candies, medicated Sheba, showered, and was waiting at the door.

So, what happened? Here is what Stacey posted on Facebook.

It's nice to know that being alone with me for 12 minutes was the worst 12 minutes of her life. I get it, now. I'm not a Facebook member -- what else is there that I should know?

About Facebook: There is a great benefit I've noticed. I mean I am totally indebted to that guy who put this out on the internets. Except it could have been better, I suppose. Stacey used to talk ... and talk ... and talk. Now, after being a Facebook member for so long, all our conversations are like 144 characters long. And if I don't respond, she doesn't say anything back to me. It's kind of like heaven right here on Earth.

That's truly worth every cent I pay for Facebook. I thought that the $500 a month Stacey said that it cost was pretty steep in the beginning. I mean, that could pay for a lot of stuff, y'know, clothes, shoes, computers, 26 iPad bags and covers, stuff like that; but it's worth every penny I give her for that Facebook account. No wonder that Facebook guy in the movie is like a gazillionaire. But I guess it's better than a big phone bill. Modern technology is really cool.

Okay, the elevator -- on 5. It's not available for use by people off the street. It goes down into the bowels of the building, the garage, and then there's a short walk to the car. I take the stairs for exercise most of the time. She doesn't.

For the most part, her Facebook post said it all ... except for minor adjustments to reality.

It was way more than 12 minutes. It was 14 minutes. And I had already hoisted myself up, feet dangling from the trap door in the ceiling. That emergency alarm button, the one she pushed for 13 and 1/2 minutes, will drive anyone to do things they would not ordinarily do ... like hoist oneself up through the trap door to escape. That I could hear her screaming, "YOU'RE GONNA DIE!" over and over convinced me that I had to find an escape route.

It was hard, man. It was hard.

Posted by Bill at November 16, 2010 11:13 AM