Journal 2 Prompt 1: Stuck in an elevator with a person you’d cross the street to avoid. Dialogue.
“The light is red – what does that mean?” She asked. She didn’t look pleased.
“It means we’re stuck. Ugh, these stupid elevators. New building, you’d think things would work! The other one was down all last week,” I replied through my teeth. I wasn’t pleased, either, but it wasn’t just about the elevator situation.
“What do we do?” Olivia wailed. “Wait. We can use the phone and call for help. I got this.” I rolled my eyes. How annoying. Stuck, and with her.
“Okay, sure,” I said. Olivia gingerly picked up the phone and started speaking into it.
“Um, hello?” she asked. “Is anyone there?” No reply. “Hello?” A few beats later, I heard a voice answer.
“Yeah, front desk. What do you want?” the disembodied voice said.
Olivia answered, “We’re kind of stuck on the elevator…could you get someone down here to help us out? It’s me and my friend and we don’t know what to do.” The voice replied, but I couldn’t make out what was said. I tuned out of the conversation. Me and my friend, she had said. Pah. Friends don’t pester like she does, I thought. Bored and irritated, I stared at the fuzzy shapes reflecting back at us from the walls of the elevator. After a minute, Olivia turned and talked to me.
“So they’re sending someone to figure out the problem, but the front desk person said it would take about thirty minutes.” I slumped against the side of the elevator and slid down till I was sitting on the ground. Olivia followed suit. “While we’re here—” she started to say, but I cut her off.
“No, you can’t have my book. I need it for class. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow!” I said, barely keeping my frustration in check.
“But you know I haven’t had a chance to get to the bookstore yet! And last time I used Amazon they sent me a book about men’s scents rather than a history of Cologne!” she said, practically on her knees and begging me.
“No,” I said, resolute. Her eyes darted to my bag, where the book was safely nested.
“Please?” She asked. She tried to do the whole puppy-dog eyes, but it did not work on me.
“No,” I repeated, turning away from her. “You’ll just have to wait for it.” At this point, she was annoying me enough that I would have crossed the street to avoid her – and here we were, trapped in an elevator.
She pouted, and started glaring at me. I ignored her, but I knew I’d have to cave in, eventually. After all, we do live together. I hope this problem gets sorted. Quickly. It’s just too much pressure.