“He said “it’s all in your head”
And I said “so’s everything” but he didn’t get it
I thought he was a man but he was just a little boy”
Fiona Apple Maggart
Sometimes what you started the week worrying about as the major crisis in your life hardly ranks in the top ten by Friday.
Today is Friday.
It has been a very fast long week. My intention had been to write about last week’s wonderful Create Festival, Premium Madden , and the abomination that is Candy Floss Tayto, but my week has been disjointed and time has had little meaning…so neither has today’s blog…
On Wednesday night I was in Chicago.
I was out celebrating with my old friends John and Dan , celebrating an anniversary of The Montauk, the world’s first skyscraper, and , as is the way of a decent celebration, it went on much longer than we had planned. Like Dublin, Chicago always seems to be littered with taxis, until you need one. We weren’t going too far, so we did the tourist thing and hailed a horse drawn carriage. We’d poured John in through his front door and were laughing about it with the cab driver, when Dan became convinced that we were being followed. He got so animated about that the cab driver threatened to throw us out, but Dan offered him and extra fifty to speed up and then a further fifty to pull over and removed the red taillights so that whoever was following us couldn’t see where we were.
“What are you wise guys on ?” The cabbie demanded, convinced that we had taken more than our fair share of Old Styles.
“Can’t you see them coming ???” Dan started screaming and pointing wildly behind us.
And as we looked , we saw three large black carriages, each pulled by two black stallions, their manes flowing wildly, sweat glistening from their necks, and steaming breath blasting from their nostrils…
“Paul ! Ssssh…it’s OK..you’re dreaming again.” My Soulmate said, placing her hand on my chest to calm me.
“Sorry.”
“It’s OK, go back to sleep…and stop going to bed listening to those damn audio books.”
My new audio book is The Devil In The White City , the story of the man behind the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, Daniel Burnham, and H.H.Holmes, America’s first serial killer. It’s very good.
When I go to bed I read my other new book, ‘The Left And The Lucky’ which is simply gorgeous. And then when I go to sleep I put in airpods and listen to an audio. This is a habit I picked up in hospital to help me sleep by drowning out the background noise of beeping machines and farting fellow patients.
On Thursday , while wide awake, I was in that Dublin with my brother John. We were heading back to our car in the Ilac Centre and waiting for the lift. There are four lifts to the Ilac’s multi story car park. Two of them have been closed ‘For Renovations’ since Easter, the two that are left are the ones that used to be glass boxes that faced out into the shopping centre so that you could idly see commercial life unfold below as you travelled to your car. They are still glass boxes, but they’ve been painted what may have looked like white when it was applied but is now that indeterminate greyish newspaper washed out tee shirt shade of despair. The lift opened and the young couple, and the couple with the Dunnes shopping trolley got in. We thought we’d wait for the next one, but the guy pushing the trolley held the door and said we could squeeze in. So we did.
We were all going to Car Park 1.
The nice guy with the trolley started to push the button to close the door repeatedly and I was about to tell him my theory that those buttons aren’t connected to anything but simply make you think that you’re doing something, and that the door closes on a timer which would start if he stood in a bit so that his jacket wasn’t dangling in front of the sensor. But the door closed before I had the chance to change his life.
It was a small lift, so the six of us , and the trolley, did what all strangers do in a lift. Without any formal agreement, or drawing of lots, three of us gazed absent mindedly at our phones, and three of us looked at the ceiling. Either course of action satisfactorily achieved its goal of avoiding eye contact with anyone else.
The lift stopped.
The doors did not open.
“Push the button !” the lady said to her husband with the trolley. ( I should add that at this point I only knew them for all of two minutes and as no one had said anything to anyone, other than “There’s room for the two of yiz” when we entered the lift, I based my assumption on their relationship status simply on the fact that they were together, and in possession of a grocery trolley.)
“I am pushing it !” he replied.
“Ah here !” the lady at the back of the lift added helpfully “I can’t be having this ! I’ll have a panic attack.”
“I’m already having a panic attack !” the first lady with the trolley snapped. “Are you pushing that button ???”
“I AM PUSHING THE BUTTON !”
Things were getting heated…thirty seconds had passed.
“There’s a number here to call ‘In Case Of Emergency’, will I call it ?” the man with the trolley asked.
“I’m dialling it now.” The lady at the back said. “Hello ? Yeah. We’re stuck in this lift in the Ilac. Yeah , the one with the shopping trolley…can you see us ? Yeah. Listen we’re panicking, we’re stuck and there’s an old lady here and she’s not looking good…”
“What old lady ???” the lady with the trolley shouted.
The lady at the back put her hand over her phone “I’m only saying that t o hurry them up…you’re lovely”. She removed her hand. “So what’s the story ? Yeah. Yeah. Tell him to hurry up.!” She hung up and told us that there was a security man on the way.
“He better hurry ! I’m gettin’ short of breath !” the man with the trolley said.
“Me too !” his wife added. “Can we wedge this door open for air ?”
Her husband started to open the door and then saw that we seemed to be between floors and rapidly closed it again.
One minute and 47 seconds had passed.
“I’m ringing them again.” The lady at the back informed us. “Yeah. It’s me. What’s goin’ on ? It’s getting hard to breath in here…and we’ve no food. Yeah. What’s taking him so long ??? Yeah. Good.” She hung up. “They say that he’ll be here in a minute.”
We all look at the trolley and try and determine what’s in it and how long we can survive… two minutes and 54 seconds have passed.
No one says anything.
“I’m ringing them again.” The lady at the back says. “ Hel…Oh ? Is he ? What kept him !” She hangs up. They say he’d here now. We can hear a clang, and the doors open. We can see a smiling security guard just below our waists.
“Out you come”.
The trolley lady hops down, and we all follow. I help the trolley guy carry his trolley out.
The people waiting for the lift are now being regaled with tales of our adventure by the two ladies.
“Yeah, scary it was…stuck for ages…panic attacks.”
I put my arms around their shoulders and said “Should we get matching survivor tattoos ?”. The lady with the trolley laughed. The lady at the back did not. She simply said, to everyone “And if they think I’m paying for the parking….”
I went and got my ticket from the car… and before you start giving out that you shouldn’t leave your car parking ticket in your car, please remember that this is a minor fault compared to the fact that I left it in the car, beside my keys.
When I paid my ticket and was heading back to the car, the trolley couple were driving past in their van. She waved at me and smiled. Then they drove over a speed bump and the boot opened and it hit an overhead sign. “FOR FUCKS SAKE !” Mr. Trolley roared.
I messaged our Gerry to say that we’d been stuck in a lift.
“For long ?” he replied.
“It was a long 5 minutes…and the survivors are getting matching tattoos.”
“Was there anyone crying ? How many survivors were there ?”
“6…Ernie didn’t make it.”
“Poor chap. Any life long partnerships made in the lift of doom.”
“John will have to have a serious chat with Linda when he gets home.”
“It was a life and death situation, I’m sure Linda will understand.”
“That’s what he’s hoping…and he’s started smoking.”
“Did big strong firemen come and rescue you “
“It was the Ilac Centre… it was a security man with a hammer, he made us jump out.”
“He’s a hero”
“I know. It’s him that we’re getting matching tattoos of.”
So that’s that.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This, like you,, is gorgeous, Fiona Apple’s Paper Bag
