The Stairwell Rant

I hate my office.

No, I'm serious. I just spent I don't know how long trapped in a stairwell with no way out. Why you may ask? Simple, really. THEY DON'T POST SIGNS WHEN DOORS WILL LOCK BEHIND YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's the short version.

The long version of the story is that I went to the break room on my floor to get something from the vending machine. Not seeing anything that appealed to my epicurean tastes, I decided to travel to a break room on another floor to see what delicacies are offered there. Harmless enough, right? WRONG!

Seeing that we had just moved from one building in our office complex to another one (another long story) I used logic to determine that since the break rooms in our old building were stacked on on top of another, then the same would hold true for our new building. After all, both were designed and built at the same time by the same architect. This thought progression was further enhanced by the fact that there was a stairwell INSIDE our new break room - a feature not shared by our old building. I chalked the discrepancy up to the fact that this building is the pretty one that our clients meander through, so it would make sense to have a stairwell connecting break rooms to facilitate easy movement. ESPECIALLY since there are two more stairwells (yes, you heard me - TWO) right OUTSIDE the break room.

So, as any right thinking person, I came to the obvious conclusion that it was perfectly safe for me to use the stairwell inside the break room to get to the other ones without traipsing all over creation.

HA!

Once entering the stairwell (which was not air conditioned and poorly lit - my first hint of doom) the door slammed shut behind me. A common enough occurrence in our buildings. Fire code, and all that jazz. I immediately turn to go up to the next floor, only to discover that there were NO STAIRS going up. Odd, but understandable, the break room on the next floor must be in a different location. So, down to the floor below.

Only to find that the break room for the floor below was dark and didn't look like my own. Oh well, try anyways.

Door locked. Drat. Okay, one more flight down.

No break room. Only a beautiful little door that said: Emergency exit only - Alarm will sound. Okay, curiouser and curiouser. Back to my floor and get out of this sweltering stairwell. Chalk it up to a learning experience and dig up a map to see where the devil the other break rooms are located.

Upon reaching the top landing (which belongs to my break room), I spy the comforts of "home" through the window (which had a shocking amount of dust on it - didn't they ever clean?). Ah, happy day. I reach out to turn the handle and pull.

Nothing happens.

Hmm, okay, it's just a little jammed. So I try harder. Still nothing. At this point, sweat is pouring off my forehead and trickling down my back. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans for my cell phone so I can call a coworker and have them get me out of here. Not there. Then I proceed to do the funny little pat thing over all of my pockets where you try to find something. No dice.

Starting to get really stuffy in here, and I figure that I dropped it on my trip down. So down the stairs I go again, searching for my trusty phone. Nope.

Now I'm starting to panic (did I mention that I'm slightly claustrophobic?) and frantically think of where I last saw the phone. It comes to me - the stupid thing is sitting on my desk, right next to my laptop. No good to me there, and I'm starting to call myself all the names in the book.

Back up the stairs I go, hoping to see a human being that I can gesture to get me out. No one. The place is deserted. Oh wait, that's right, it's the Friday of a holiday weekend. Everyone got to go home EARLY! (Except for those of us who got stuck staying behind to handle any last minute issues.)