During my first year and a half of college, I lived in the dorms. I hadn't been crazy about the idea but our college had a dorm assignment system that gave preference to two people who requested they share a room together over two strangers. The twin boys in my high school class and the only other males in my class besides me, had an older brother who went to the college I was going too and didn't like the roommate he had the first year. Their older brother was a quiet guy who always studied and never did anything wrong in his life and not really my cup of tea, but I thought it would be better than the opposite. Besides, he was a farm boy like me and likely to get up early and go to bed early and not the other way around. We were paired up which is how I ended up in the Quiet Floor.
Each dorm had a quiet floor which as far as I could tell only meant that you had to be quiet after nine in the evening as opposed to whenever you might pass out from exhaustion. During the daytime and on designated party nights, we were as loud as any other floor. However, none of this really pertains to love in an elevator so I digress.
Our dorm floor had a sister floor (which wasn't a quiet floor) which meant that a couple times a year, we got together and had a big party. On this particular occasion, it was our turn to go to our sister floor so we all got spiffed up and walked across the commons to the female dorm. We crowded into the elevator like a bunch of sardines, hit the button for the sixth floor and away we went.
The light above the door flashed to two, then three and then we felt an obviously slowing down of speed. The light flashed to four and I think five might have even flickered before four showed back up followed at an increasing speed three, two, one. The elevator hit the bottom hard and quite a few of those around me went down to their knees hard. It would have been worse had we not all been packed in there like sardines and really didn't have anywhere to move had we wanted too. After everyone was able to get back on their feet and we were assured that nobody had been hurt, we started hitting the buttons but the door wasn't opening. We were stuck.
Here is where the love part comes in. There were probably twenty of us in that elevator and all of us around 18 to 20 years old. We were going to meet a floor full of women who were 18 to 20 years old and wanted to improve our odds of maybe getting laid. So we were all well scrubbed and well scented and now sealed in a sardine box of an elevator with no ventilation. Time passed as our eyes watered, our lungs burned and temperatures climbed. We probably were in there for over an hour when help finally arrived and they started working on getting the doors opened.
After a few minutes, the doors opened and I saw why we hadn't been able to get out. When the elevator had slipped and fell to the bottom of the shaft, it had been about four feet below ground level so we all had to pull ourselves up to get out of the elevator. Once out, there was an official looking person who started asking all of us our names which I would assume would have led to disciplinary action since there were obviously more than ten people in the elevator. So I did what anyone would have done, I ran. I wasn't in my dorm and they didn't know me from Adam so my chances of them finding me later were slim to none. I took those odds along with all but two or three of us.
We scattered and regrouped, this time taking six flights of stairs to avoid the officials still working near the bank of elevators and I don't remember the details of our party with the sister floor other than I know I didn't get laid. But every time I am in an elevator with a group of people heading up to the upper reaches of a building, I always think of that time when I was in an elevator that fell five flights.