"Security. Is everyone all right?"
"We're stuck in elevator three," she said, sounding much calmer than I felt.
"Maintenance has been notified," the voice replied. "Please remain calm. We are working on it."
The speaker crackled, then went silent.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. The beeping continued. The lunchbox handle dug into my palm.
After a few minutes of standing there in silence, the awkwardness started to feel worse than the actual elevator problem.
"So," I said, because apparently fear made me socially brave, "do you work here?"
She turned toward me. "Yeah. One of the upper floors."
Her voice was smooth, but there was something tired around her eyes. Up close, she looked less like the effortless woman from a magazine and more like a real person who had been holding herself together all morning.
"Oh, that's actually where my husband works," I said with a small laugh. "I'm just bringing him his lunch because he forgot it at home."
