It was the 4th of July and I was planning to have some friends over to watch the fireworks on the…read moreroof of my building (5000 S. Centinela is the BEST place to watch the 4th of July fireworks!). I decided to ask Paula, my 84-year-old housekeeper to help me get it ready for the party. She was also going to make my boyfriend's favorite dish (Chilaquiles) for breakfast, so I told her I would pick her up from her place and we would go to the market to get whatever she needed for the Chilaquiles and I'd pick up what I needed for the party.
We got to my apartment (I live on the 2nd floor of an apartment complex that has 3 floors) and instead of taking the stairs, like I usually would do, I parked in the temporary parking space next to the elevator for when you have groceries or heavy stuff to take to your apartment. After I'd carried in the groceries I held the door open for Paula (who walks--very slowly--with the help of a cane) who hesitated briefly, but then made her way onto the elevator without a word. My dog, Pywng!, got on the elevator last and walked directly to the back of the car, away from the doors which scare him. I'd not been able to pick his leash up because I was carrying the last of the groceries and I didn't realize it was caught in the door until it was too late. Then suddenly he was dragged by his leash across the floor to the corner where the edge of the door was. I screamed because I thought his neck would be broken or that he'd be choked but then right as it got to his neck, the piece of his leash that attaches to his collar snapped with a metallic "Penk!" sound. Then there was a louder, mechanical "Chonk!" sound from somewhere deep in the elevator shaft and we stopped moving. Pywng! yelped and jumped up into my arms and I cried with relief that he'd survived such a terrifying and close call and gave him kisses and made sure he had no serious injuries. (Thankfully, he was 100% okay.)
"O dios mio!!" Paula exclaimed, and started to look around desperately for some sort of emergency exit. She does not speak English but it was evident that she believed were going to suffocate if we didn't get out immediately. I tried to reassure her that we were going to be fine, that there were vents supplying us air so we would not run out of oxygen. She was dubious and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Whatever." I took out my cell phone and called the number on the elevator panel. The person on the other couldn't have been more blase and uninterested in doing her job. "You know it's the 4th of July, so we're short-staffed. It's gonna be at least 3 or 4 hours, maybe more." "3 or 4 hours?" I shrieked, "That's ridiculous! You need to get someone here now! There is an elderly woman who's got a heart condition in here with me, and she is in distress!" The woman said, "Sorry. If it's an emergency, you need to call 911." (No one ever showed up or even called me to ask me if everyone had made it out of the elevator ok. Talk about crappy customer service--you take the cake, elevator emergency service line!)
So I called 911 and told them what the situation was, and the dispatcher told us that she'd get the fire department and paramedics (I was 99% sure that Paula was going to have a heart attack; she kept clutching her chest and when she would take a drink out of her (now nearly empty) coffee cup, her hands shook violently) out to us right away. She didn't mention even once that it was the 4th of July, or act like it was a total inconvenience that we needed to be rescued. She offered to stay on the line til help arrived, which I declined. Paula then phoned her grandson, Eloi, and told him she was stuck in an elevator and "probably going to die, with the crazy white lady with the little dog" but that it was okay because she'd had "a good life" and him to love. "We're not going to die," I shouted to Eloi, who speaks English, "Don't worry! We'll get out of here soon!" Fiesty as ever, Paula grumbled good bye to her grandson and snapped her flip phone shut.
Within 20 minutes we could hear the sirens of the fire engine and ambulance, within 45 minutes we could hear them shouting to us, letting us know they were trying to get us out, within 1 hour they had the doors open and were talking to us, telling us exactly how they were going to get us out of there. (They had to lower the elevator down to the first floor because if we tried to get out when the car was between floors and the elevator started moving we could be cut in half!) It was clear though, that they genuinely cared about us and they worked incredibly hard to get us out quickly and safely. Apparently the reason there was a delay was because they didn't have the key to the door where the elevator control panel was so they had to break down the door with an axe! I have nothing but love and respect for the Culver City Fire Department! And thanks to them Paula and I were fine, although it was then I learned that that was Paula's first ride in an elevator!!!