He stood near the elevator for a few minutes debating in his head before finally deciding to enter. To say that he hated elevators would be an understatement.
He pressed the button, took a deep breath and prayed silently. He hummed his favourite song and before he could realise, it was packed with all kinds of people.
A group of mean looking businessmen, a couple of old american women, a podgy middle aged man struggling to fit in with his protruding belly and a french bearded young gun, who seemed like he had decoded all of life's mysteries. It was a miracle how the elevator was still moving.
From just a pang of anxiety it went on to become a full blown panic attack. He began to sweat profusely. Getting into the elevator seemed like the worst decision he made today. Every second seemed to stretch into eternity, minutes seemed like hours. After the 12th floor, his mind stopped functioning normally. His train of thought slowly wandered into that moment of a time long gone. A drop of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead. He glanced at the nonchalant american ladies who looked unbelievably calm and collected. "How can they stay so calm?!" he muttered under his breath.
In his head this was like a glass box, unbreakable and coming threateningly close to his body. He tried to divert his mind trying to think of cheerful images. Long stretches of paddy fields, bright yellow tulips that he loved as a child. Nothing seemed to work and he went back to waiting for what seemed to have lasted several years.
The doors opened slowly and a typical Mediterranean female voice declared, "32nd floor". He leapt out of the elevator like it was on fire.
Claustrophobia, because the only time a person should be in a box is when he is no more.
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