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I was working in San Francisco at the time in what we called the "Disco Building." I don't know why we called it the Disco Building, but we did. It's appropriate name is the Wells Fargo Building on Montgomery St.
Anyways, my friend and I were on our way back upstairs after our morning coffee and smoke break on the street. We were in the elevator with a couple of investment bankers (or maybe they weren't, who cares anymore?) who were lamenting the economy (1992) and fretting over having to sell their winter Florida home.
It happened to be a windy day for us, windier than usual. As the elevator is going up, we can hear the wind whistling through the elevator shaft. We're on an express elevator that doesn't stop between the 1st and 29th floors so we're watching a couple of XXs on the floor counter and listening to these two fellers prattle on.
As we pass the 30th floor, we feel the elevator begin to slow down. The numbers go, 30..31...32....33.......34.................35..............................
then nothing.
Whistling wind.
Quizzical looks.
The wind was strong enough to slow, then stop the elevator.
Luckily, our elevator had an intercom with the lobby security so my friend buzzed it. The guy responded that he was aware the elevator had stopped but that there wasn't really anything they could do. We'd just have to wait for the gust to die down and the elevator to move again.
After about 30 seconds or so, it moved and we exited at our floor with the other two gents proceeding up to the 41st floor. We got off the elevator and went back to work.
What I never told my friend was that the entire 30 seconds, I was playing over and over in my mind the scenario of the elevator somehow snapping loose of its tether and us plummeting 36 or so floors to our undoubtedly spectacular demises.
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"I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am" - Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses
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