The doorman hurdle

Working an extra late-night shift was a lot of fun last night. My first call was to 237 Park Avenue. Someone was trapped in elevator #9. When I arrived (just before my shift actually started) the doorman told me one lady was stuck and needed to get out quickly. I ask the normal questions attempting to assess the situation.
Is she calm or panicking? Claustrophobic? Pregnant or epileptic? Do we need to call the fire department?
The doorman immediately presses the intercom talk button "Are you pregnant?"
The lady yelled "What?"
"They want me to ask you" he said.
Now, I understand its difficult to get a normal person to work the graveyard shift. I understand the intense amount of stress a doorman must be under each night, in a near-empty building.
As the nocturnal porter starts to laugh at the doorman I asked "Dude, are you serious? What's the matter with you?"
"How else will we know?" he inquires of me.
I went on to explain that I was hoping he would already have pertinent information from what our victim already volunteered. (She became a victim when this idiot doorman forced her to reconsider her safety. And her maternity status.)
I wait as Einstein looks for the machine room keys. And I wonder why he didn't perform this task just after calling Schindler with an elevator problem.

Once in the machine room my twenty plus years of elevator experience quickly diagnosed the problem. But the burning smell and smoke from a large relay did help. At this time I didn't know which floor she was trapped on. I was hoping to be able to pick the hall door near her and open the car door by hand. I went down to investigate her location.

The lady was stuck in a blind shaft. I called the office for a second mechanic. A blind shaft is the part of the hoistway that has no doors to the hallway. This particular blind shaft was the first 12 stories of the building above the lobby landing. She was stuck on the ninth floor. I knew the only way out for her was to be helped from the side door of elevator #9 to the side door of #8.

I pulled the mainline and ventured down the stairs to elevator #8. Once on top of #8 I heard the voice of elevator mechanic #2, Sean. He arrived rather quickly I noticed. After customary greetings and the offering of coffee, Sean and I descended slowly atop of elevator #8. When we reached the point where our car top was level with #9 we noticed the side doors do not have a beam between them. Nothing but nine floors of gravity creating a rather unsafe transfer spot. At this point Sean climbs over to our victims car. He opens the top escape hatch and begins to talk to the lady.

With universal hand signals I inquire if she's old or fat. (I already know she isn't pregnant) I'm concerned about a transfer as we consider calling the FDNY. We would be able to get them to this point in the shaft and they can be responsible for her safety.

Sean wants to look at the melted relay. A slow trip up to 21 will delay our goal. So I stayed with our victim while Sean went up to the machine room. Her name is Sharon and she works at a cosmetic company in the building. I offer her my cell phone but she already had one and was in contact with her friends. Her first priority, upon exit, was to use a bathroom.

I call Sean on the phone. He wants to make a temporary repair to the relay and hope for the best. I originally didn't look for a "relay repair" because I thought I would be able to get her out without a transfer.

Eventually Sean patched the relay terminal with a large sheet metal screw. It was just barely hanging on to the stranded wire. As I ran the car (from the car top controls) on inspection speed up he stood by the fire extinguisher in the machine room.

Sharon was free. I got a hug. Sean got two tickets on his car. One for an expired inspection sticker and one for not putting money in the parking meter. That's how he arrived so quickly.

I repaired four more elevators that night. Then, at 6AM, I got another entrapment call. This time it was 1345 Avenue of the Americas. Two doorman work the same night-shift at this building. One doorman is named Frank. Frank has worked there for a few months but never knows where anything is or even where the keys are. Frank and I got trapped in a stairwell a few weeks back because he thought it was unlocked.

The other doorman greeted me this morning and jokingly asked if I wanted Frank to escort me around the building.
"No thanks. Just toss me the keys and tell me which floor the low rise machine room is located".

Doorman #2 didn't know which floor and he didn't know which keys were needed. So I asked him "Why do you pick on Frank when you, yourself, don't know your way around here? How long have you been working here?"
His answer of four years shocked me. It took one half hour to get from the lobby to inside the elevator machine room. The victim of this building may blame the elevator mechanic for not working quick enough. The real resistance of my rescues is never revealed.

Out of order

In the middle of the night, when most are sleeping, my job is to repair elevators and, sometimes, remove trapped people from them.

On a warm December day in 1988, as a helper, I was sent to a 220 CPS to remove passengers from a stuck elevator. I went via subway with an older gentleman named Donald. Donald had pure white hair which, I assumed, was the color after gray. Donald later retired from two full time jobs. He was a Foreman at American Elevator and, at night, he worked for the MTA.

I held Donald's toolbox as we traveled underground. His toolbox was old too. The worn handle had been repaired many times.

Donald didn't talk much and walked slowly. In 1988 I haven't yet realize that my career-destiny was to fix elevators so I didn't have any interest in talking with him either.

As we emerged from the subway in Columbus Circle I could see the building we needed to get to just down the block. I walked slightly faster. Donald suddenly made a right turn into a deli! I asked "What about the people trapped?" He leaned over and said "They're safe in there. Let's get some coffee."

My addiction to coffee came years later. I got a small container of orange juice and waited for his eggs to cook. We went outside and sat on a bench in Central Park. I couldn't enjoy my oj. I was thinking about people across the street, down the block, stuck in an elevator.

When the right moment had come Donald slowly got up and I picked up his old tool box.

When we entered the lobby the super, Ramon, was standing there. "I just got them out" Ramon said.

Donald whispered to me "That's what we wanted. The building super or a Fireman can get them out. Let someone else be responsible for their safety. We just need to repair the metal junk in the shaft. And if we don't fix it someone else will. No pressure."

The lesson was easy. But I have yet to delay my journey to any elevator entrapment on purpose. During those moments before arrival, the coffee doesn't taste right.