One afternoon earlier this past week, my sister and I picked up my nephew from school. As we were walking home, we decided that my sister would go to the supermarket, while my nehpew and I would head on home so that he could get started on his homework, as he had a test the following day.
Trips to the store tend to go better with a bit of planning beforehand. My sister and I had done a quick inventory of the storage closet before leaving home, just to make sure we knew exactly what was needed, particularly in the beverage stock. We had already planned to take more milk and soft drinks upstairs, as my sister would replenish while at the store.
So, my nephew and I stopped off at the storage closet in the garage, and I grabbed 6 liters of milk (nicely wrapped in their case) and an 8 pack of Fanta, also wrapped in their plastic.
"C'mon, Uncle B!" said my nephew, who was standing next to the elevator.
"Two seconds," I responded, looking around to see if there was anything else I thought we needed upstairs.
"One, TWO!" exclaimed my little companion, cheekily taking my comment literally.
I elected to grab a six pack of beer, locked the closet, then we got in the elevator, where we started pulling faces at one another in the full length mirror as we rode to the 4th floor.
Both of us were simply standing there, albeit with comical expressions on our faces, when CRASH!
One of the bottles of beer slipped out of the cardboard holder and smashed and splashed onto the floor of the elevator, just as we reached our floor.
The elevator is not particularly big, you might consider it a bit tight with three adults and a growing 9 year old. However, it is the perfect size for a bottle of beer to completely cover the floor (and our shoes, for that matter) with liquid.
"HOLD the elevator. Don't let it go anywhere," I instructed my nephew, as I quickly tried to figure out what to do next. My hands were full of bevvies, I was trying to keep the other beers from falling out of the cardboard holder, and my keys were in my pocket. Nevermind there was beer EVERYWHERE. And broken glass.
I put the drinks down on the floor outside of the apartment, keyed open the door, then noticed I was about to track beer inside the house. Unfortunately, I had to go inside to get a mop, paper towels, or whatever.
"HOLD that elevator," I exclaimed once more, feeling a bit frantic but also quite grateful that my nephew was there to help.
I grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and raced back into the corridor, where I tried to carefully pick up the broken glass, managing to cut myself in the process.
The elevator is such that when another tenant wants to use the elevator, they press the button and call it to their floor. Er, this is pretty much how elevators work, I know, but I am trying to make the point that there is no way to stop the elevator if you have, let's say, dropped a bottle of beer all over the floor. On previous visits to my sister, I have once or twice seen a stray grocery cart, a stroller, and once even a small child appear as the elevator doors opened, simply because someone had exited the elevator and turned around just in time to see the doors close and the elevator move off to another floor.
Of course, everyone else was getting home from picking up their kids from school, so suddenly everyone was trying to use the elevator. Thus, the elevator was starting to get confused, as it was being called to another floor while my nehpew kept pressing the button at our floor. Twice he had to jump in front of the sensor as the door started to close. Unlike office elevators that spring open when the smallest thing gets detected by the sensor, this elevator proceeds to close with determination, going so far as attempting to crush whatever is in its way (which normally should be nothing). Sure, I have first hand experience with this (and furthermore can actually compare it to times that I have stood in front of other closing elevator doors (in hotels, office buildings, etc), and for that matter, on metros and U-Bahns, too.
At any rate, I was very interested in avoiding having to tell my sister that not only had I made a bit off a mess in the elevator but that her son had also gotten smushed in the door as we tried to clean things up.
"Keep holding!" I yelled as as I left the paper towels soaking up the beer and ran back in the house to get the mop.
Seconds later, I was busy with the mop, listening to more and more frustrated (and lazy) people trying to use the elevator. I contemplated directing my nephew to run downstairs to tell them to simply use the stairs themselves, but figured we would be finished cleaning up very soon.
Well, it turns out, I failed to realize that there was no detergent in the bucket of water, so I basically just swapped the beer around on the floor. The water helped, of course, but I was not particularly pleased with my clean up. But, it would have to do for the time being.
I could still hear people downstairs, so was eager to get inside and close the apartment door. However, the elevator, after only a few minutes of constant button pressing, had managed to jam, and was now stalled at our floor. A clear indicator as to who had been mucking about.
For two anxious minutes, I waited for the elevator to reset itself, but it just stayed there.
My nephew had the idea to simply press a button to another floor, and we both were relieved to see the doors finally close and hear the elevator start moving again.
We went on in the house, tracking beer on the floor. We removed our shoes, and I promptly rinsed off the soles and left them to dry in the bathroom.
"Wow, Uncle B. Did you get beer all over your face and shirt, too?" asked my nephew.
"Nope, that is just me breaking into a tremendous sweat," I retorted. "It was kind of hectic back there. Thanks for your help."
Suddenly, the door buzzed, and my nephew picked up the receiver to find out who was at the door (downstairs, of course).
"It's Mama," said my nephew, handing the phone to me.
For a brief second, I thought that the frustrated tenants had all encountered my sister and commplained that we had hogged the elevator for the better part of 15 minutes, and she wanted to find out just what the hell was going on.
It turns out, she just wanted to send the grocery cart upstairs and run off and do another errand. I asked quickly if she had bought some more paper towels at the store, then explained that we had had a bit of an accident in the elevator.
She sent the groceries on up and I had just finished putting them away when she returned.
"Looks like everything is back in order," she commented. We did do another mop job with a bit of detergent, and brought the event to a close.
Over the next 24 hours, we rode the elevator at least 3 or 4 times. Each time, my nephew and I wrinkled our noses at the whiff of stale beer and giggled. There is nothing like leaving behind a little reminder that you were somewhere.
I elected not to tell my nephew about a similar incident I had had a couple of weeks before when I was sitting by myself in a conference room at a repair site in Budapest, where I quietly opened up a bottle of warm coca-cola, only to have it explode in a fountain of spewing foam all over the floor.
But I will leave that for another story.
Meanwhile, I will hope that my nephew forgets about the incident and remembers more fondly the times playing ping-pong, board games, breaking the slinky, how to say science in German, and having battles with the star wars lego guys (of which pictures and video are available on request).
See you out there. Mops and wet-wipes are optional, but probably a good thing to have close by.
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