My Boss Ignored Me For Two Years — Until We Got Trapped In An Elevator For Seven Hours
Part 1
My boss never said good morning to me.
He walked past my desk on my first day like I was a piece of furniture.
I had bought a coffee with my own money and practiced a professional smile in the lobby mirrors.
I stood up when he walked onto the thirty-eighth floor.
His jaw was locked tight as if the entire world had disappointed him.
I offered a polite greeting.
He did not even glance in my direction.
That was two and a half years ago.
Around my third month, the decision to not let one cold man rewrite my manners became my daily mantra.
Instead of shrinking, warmth was freely offered to everyone else on the floor.
Smiles were directed at the tired security guards every single morning.
Friendly greetings welcomed the invisible cleaning crew who arrived at dawn.
Despite all of this, Greg still walked past me like I was just weather.
My friend Brenda thought I was insane to stay.
She pointed out that most people would have quit after a week of that treatment.
I reminded her that most people did not need the comprehensive dental package.
The salary paid for half of my mother’s rent.
I also had a secret motive for staying.
I told Brenda I was gathering observational color.
She argued I was just gathering a personality disorder.
I hung up the phone and smoothed my navy coat.
The hallway smelled of expensive paper and lemon polish.
A faint trace of Greg’s cologne lingered in the air.
I just did not like the man at the end of the corridor.
Brian was already juggling two calls when I reached my desk.
He warned me that a storm was brewing.
Craig was on his way up.
Craig was a board member and an old friend of Greg’s late father.
He essentially functioned as a human migraine for the entire office.
I set my bag down and tied my hair back with a pencil.
I turned toward the kitchen to make the coffee.
Greg took his black with one sugar.
I always placed a small saucer under his cup.
He never once thanked me for it.
I did it anyway because it was my job.
Craig marched out of the conference room a few hours later.
He demanded four bound color copies of Monday’s presentation by the end of the day.
The binding service required a full day of notice.
I politely offered a digital copy now and physical ones on Monday morning.
He patronizingly patted the air near my face.
He told me to be a good girl and figure it out.
Greg stood in the doorway of his office.
He had heard the entire exchange.
I calculated the time it would take to walk to a print shop in the rain.
Greg called my name.
I looked up.
He instructed me to schedule Craig for an early meeting on Monday.
He told me I did not work for Craig.
That was the very first full sentence he had ever spoken to me that was not strictly about logistics.
The rain started coming down in sheets by five o’clock.
Dinner plans with my mother were quickly canceled.
By eight o’clock, the massive presentation was finally printed and sorted.
Braving the freezing downpour, a two-block walk led me to a local binder.
Water dripped steadily from my coat while the man assembled the thick plastic covers.
The return trip left my shoulders aching from the heavy stacks.
The entire floor was empty and silent.
Placing the bound copies on Greg’s desk felt like a hollow victory.
In the glow of the desk lamp, a small framed photograph on his credenza caught my eye.
It showed a young girl with dark hair laughing at the camera.
Shifting my gaze, the brass lamp clicked off and plunged the room into darkness.
The main elevators were shut down for maintenance.
Down the hall, a single push of the freight elevator call button echoed in the quiet corridor.
The doors slid apart.
Greg was standing inside.
He looked up from his phone.
A flicker of something crossed his face before he masked it.
I stepped inside and water dripped from my coat onto the metal floor.
The doors clamped shut.
We began to descend.
I stood against one wall while he leaned against the other.
I watched the digital numbers tick down.
I had nine hundred things I wanted to say to this man.
I kept my mouth completely shut.
We hit the nineteenth floor.
A loud crack echoed somewhere deep in the building.
The elevator jerked to a violent halt.
The overhead lights died instantly.
A faint blue emergency glow washed over the tiny cabin.
Greg looked at me in the icy darkness.
I dropped my bag on the floor.
I picked up the emergency phone panel.
A cheerful automated voice informed me that security lines were busy and the wait time was ten minutes.
I slammed the receiver back down.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.
I pulled off my wet shoes.
Greg loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.
He slid down the opposite wall and sat across from me.
The backup generator hummed three floors below us.
I told him we were going to be trapped here for at least two hours.
I suggested we pass the time by telling each other true things.
He stared at his hands for a long moment.
And then he looked at me in the blue emergency light and admitted the one thing I never expected.
