I already pressed it four times. There's no point pressing it a fifth—unless you think the connection's loose or something? Should I hold it longer this time, like really lean on it, or just tap it?
Also, weirdly, I brought salt. Like actual salt, in my bag. Don't ask me why. You want some? I don't even know what for.
No salt. Keep it. I’m not eating elevator dust. And stop trying to weaponize the alarm. It’s doing its job. Just breathe. You’re making the air stale.
I'm not weaponizing anything, I'm pressing a button. That's the intended use of the button. And I am breathing, that's not optional, I don't have a choice about the air thing.
Is it actually getting stale in here or is that a figure of speech? Because if there's an actual air issue we should probably know that.
It’s not stale. It’s just metal and recycled breath. Don’t anthropomorphize the shaft. If it were stale, we’d be asleep. We’re not. You’re just hyperventilating over nothing. Sit down.
I'm not hyperventilating, I'm standing. Those are different things. Sitting on this floor seems unwise, do you know what's on it? Probably not salt.
You keep saying "we" like you're fine, which, fine, you're fine. I'm just asking questions. How long has it actually been — like a real number, not a vibe.
Five minutes. Maybe six. I lost count when you started monologuing about the floor hygiene. It’s not a race. The elevator doesn’t care about your schedule. Stop checking your pulse. It’s ruining the silence.
Six minutes feels longer than six minutes, is that a known thing? Also I wasn't checking my pulse, I was checking my phone, there's a difference, one of them has bars and one of them doesn't.
Zero bars, by the way. Do you have signal? Genuinely asking, not spiraling.
None. The shaft’s a Faraday cage for fools. You’ve had no signal for three floors anyway. Put the brick away before you drop it on your foot. I’m counting tiles. It’s the only thing that moves.
Counting tiles is either very calm or the opposite of calm, and I genuinely can't tell which. How many so far.
Also — three floors, you said. So you know exactly where we stopped. That's more precise than "five, maybe six minutes." Which one's the real answer.
Forty-two. Don’t overthink it. I knew we stopped because the jerk back was distinct. Different motor. The time was an estimate. Precision is for people who aren’t trapped in a box with you.