Jason didn't like to be kept waiting. He's the kind of man who checked his phone every second, while drumming with his fingers on the wheels at red lights. He's someone who walks faster than everyone else just to avoid being stuck behind. So when the elevator doors closed on the twenty-third floor of his office building his stomach tightened.
He pressed the button for the lobby, but nothing happened. The display above the door stayed frozen on “23.”
"Great. Of all days," he thought. He had a meeting in twenty minutes, that could decide whether or not he got promoted. His tie was already strangling him, and his nerves were strung tighter than a violin.
He stabbed the “door open” button, thinking maybe he could just take the stairs. The doors didn’t budge.
A sigh floated up from the corner. Jason turned and noticed he wasn’t alone. A young woman sat cross-legged on the floor, earbuds dangling from her ears. She looked perfectly calm, as if being trapped between floors was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jason muttered.
“You’re new to this,” the woman said, pulling out an earbud.
“New to what?”
“Getting stuck. Happens all the time in this building.” She shrugged. “I work on seventeen. Twice this month already.”
Jason ran a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me this is normal? And you’re just sitting there like this is fine.”
“Well, it is fine,” she said. “Unless you’re claustrophobic. Are you?”
“No,” Jason said too quickly. Then, softer: “I just have somewhere to be.”
The woman tilted her head, studying him. “Everyone always does.”
Jason checked his phone. No signal. His chest tightened further. Every tick of the second hand on his watch felt like another nail in the coffin of his promotion.
The woman reached into her bag and pulled out a granola bar. “Want one? We might be here a while.”
Jason almost laughed. Almost. “No, thanks. I don’t eat junk food.”
Her eyebrows rose. “It’s oats and nuts. Not exactly poison.” She tore it open and took a bite anyway.
Minutes stretched. Jason found himself pacing in the tiny box. His reflection in the mirrored wall looked restless, desperate, and small. He hated it.
Finally, the woman spoke again. “You know, maybe this isn’t the worst thing.”
Jason turned on her. “Excuse me?”
“Think about it. For once, you can’t rush anywhere. You can’t answer emails, can’t fake-smile in a meeting, can’t stress about traffic. You’re literally forced to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” Jason snapped.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” she said calmly, chewing her granola.
The words stung. Jason wanted to argue, but the silence pressed in. He realized his fists were clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
He sat down at last, across from her. The carpet smelled faintly of dust.
“What do you even do?” he asked, more to distract himself than anything.
“I design greeting cards,” she said. “Birthdays, weddings, condolences. You name it.”
Jason blinked. “That’s a job?”
“Everything’s a job,” she said with a half-smile. “Even stressing yourself into an ulcer, apparently.”
He almost smiled back, but the knot in his chest wouldn’t loosen. Still, her calmness spread into the air like a kind of music.
They talked. About little things. About nothing. Jason realized twenty minutes had passed, then thirty. His meeting was gone. His promotion was gone. And yet, strangely, he felt lighter.
When at last the elevator jolted and began to descend, Jason braced himself. The woman just stood and brushed off her jeans.
As the doors opened into the lobby, she slipped her earbuds back in. “See you around, Mr. No-Granola.”
Jason almost laughed again.
He stepped into the lobby expecting anger, dread, and a rush to salvage the day. Instead, he stood still. And for the first time in years, he wasn’t in a hurry. The world could wait.
