ascenseur de la mort

("ah-sen-sore de la more" - it sort of rhymes...it means elevator of death)

Here's a funny story from when I arrived en Paris. After waiting with my 2 huge roller suitcases, bursting backpack, and baby Taylor (that's the little guitar I bought!), the first Union employee arrived and helped me out with the bags into one of the offices. Several minutes later another employee arrived, a member of the logistics team in the actual office location in which I work. I went across the street, introduced myself, and got the instructions for accessing my apartment.

The email printout included a door code, inner door code, apartment locale, and elevator instructions ("take to 3.5, walk down half flight"). I left my bags at the office and walked up just to check the apartment out (there was another employee staying there at the time, he has since moved to a hotel - I believe he is normally stationed in India, though I'm not positive). Now, I believe the area of Paris I live in is really old. As I've said, there are scars from WWII on buildings, as well as plaques hanging commemorating fallen soldiers. In any case, my building seems pretty old too, and has very narrow winding staircases. I knew it was gonna be trouble getting my stuff (the bags were about 70lbs, 30lbs, 30lbs, and unwieldy small guitar) up to the apartment.

I decided to check out what this Harry Potter / Being John Malkovich half-floor-elevator-with-an-access-code was all about. If I tell you it is the size of a phone booth, I am being generous. In reality, as I'd soon find out, the footprint of the elevator is almost exactly that of my large rolling suitcase! I had to squeeze it through the door.

Since I didn't want my luggage to go the way of Akeem of Zamunda's when he moved into Queens, I knew I had to bring it all up in one trip. That immediately ruled out the stairs. The only other option was the elevator. I figured I'd load up one piece at a time, punch in the code, run up the stairs, meet my bag at floor 3.5, and repeat as necessary. I could, in reality, leave my stuff in the 'lobby' as the door to the outside is locked. Plan set, I opened the middle school locker, shoved in my largest piece of luggage, and looked at it for a moment. I immediately realized I could put the other piece on top...and the backpack on top of that...and the guitar on top of it all!

I got all 4 pieces in with just enough room to put my hand in to type the code, shut the door, and watch it go up! So I reached in, punched in the code, shut the door quickly...and nothing. I tried again, making sure to close the door even quicker. Nothing. My degree in physics helped me realize that the time required to close the door was approaching zero (physicists deal a lot with limits). I would have to be inside the elevator for this to work.

Since I had loaded my belongings into the elevator, the elevator floor had fallen about 5 inches below ground level, so I wasn't too confident it could hold me as well. I looked around for a weight limit, and found a nice placard informing me that it is 150 kilos. Luckily, British Airways baggage requirements are given in both kilos and pounds, so I knew that my 70lb bag was about 30 kilos, and since I'm a nerd, I calculated that I weigh about 67 kilos (I'm also about 150cm tall I think). My thought process went something like, "67 + 30 + ... there's no way I'm over."

I contorted myself around the luggage, breathed in, and closed the door behind me. I was literally straddling the big roller and hugging the little one, with my head cocked into the cranny left by the guitar angled against the ceiling and wall.

Next, I reached into my pocket, got the code, and careful not to exhale, I punched in the code. All at once, the green light lit up, the machine beeped, and the jaws of death - or big metal doors I didn't expect - clenched down upon my protruding buttocks. As this is an old building, there was no safety feature that opens the doors back up when something is in the way, they just close, and the elevator goes. It crept along at like .001 km/h and after an eternity in claustrophobia hell and several verses of aleinu, my 50 kilos of luggage and I arrived on the 3 1/2th floor.

Once I caught my breath, I began a brief struggle unloading everything onto the wedge of cheese that is the 3.5th floor / winding stair-step, and carried everything down .5 flights one piece at a time.



still to come: vid from un jour avec les frungers, and my first visit to la tour eifel!

ps. please comment / email - i wanna hear about all 2 of your lives too (if anybody's reading...)!