{"id":555,"date":"2014-09-07T08:25:45","date_gmt":"2014-09-07T12:25:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/nymysteries.com\/?p=555"},"modified":"2014-09-07T08:25:45","modified_gmt":"2014-09-07T12:25:45","slug":"new-york-city-blog-sept-1-sept-7","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/nymysteries.com\/?p=555","title":{"rendered":"New York City Blog Sept. 1 – Sept. 7"},"content":{"rendered":"
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On September 4th I had to go to a Madison Avenue building and take the elevator to the 19th floor. So what, you say. Ever have a phobia? I have a collection, but the elevator phobia tops the list. Climbing twelve flights? No problem. Ever get lost in a Moroccan hotel and not be able to find your hotel room because the stairs went in the opposite direction? That\u2019s a problem, especially if your partner is trying to find you. The final straw came when he and I arrived for a dinner party and I couldn\u2019t get into the elevator to go to the 18th floor. I phoned the hostess and claimed I had a bad sunburn and had to cancel. How\u2019s that for implausible? Because of my embarrassment my partner and I had a fight.<\/p>\n

Living in high rise New York, this phobia ruled my life. I had to do something about it. I found a phobia clinic at St. Luke\u2019s- Roosevelt Hospital. It was run on a shoestring budget by a young social worker whose name I\u2019m very sorry to say I\u2019ve forgotten. He had had a phobia about driving over bridges. His own fear had led him to examine phobias in general. We were a motley group of eight women. One woman suffered from free floating anxiety. Another had a phobia about being alone. Her boyfriend was waiting for her in the lobby. Another woman only wanted to be alone. After hearing about my phobia she said she\u2019d like nothing better than being alone in an elevator for the rest of her life. The other elevator phobe and I took over the meetings. Because of us, session after session the group was herded to the hospital\u2019s elevator bank. I watched in horrible fascination as the doors opened and people walked out as if being in one of those boxes was normal. Our teacher explained how an elevator worked. He stressed that it was a machine. I find that comforting to this day. He adjusted the controls of one elevator so it would remain stationary and asked the group to get into it. The six bored, passive women shuffled in. We two phobes refused. The social worker, Mr. Patience himself, reiterated that the doors wouldn\u2019t shut and the elevator wouldn\u2019t move. I stepped in, avoiding the bored glares of the other women. The doors slammed shut and the elevator zoomed to the sixty-fifth floor where it was stuck between floors for hours. Actually, nothing happened except in my fevered imagination. The elevator didn\u2019t move and after a few minutes we went back to the closet like classroom. I felt vaguely superior to the other elevator phobic. At least I\u2019d gotten into the damned thing.<\/p>\n

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At the same time I had received a call from a housing establishment that I\u2019d been applying to for ten years. There was a vacancy! Lucky me, I was told. The apartment was on the twelfth floor. I begged to be in a ground apartment. Absolutely not, I was told. Take the twelfth floor apartment or go to the back of the line. I took the apartment and walked up the twelve flights for a few weeks. Finally, I got into the elevator. Doing that on a daily basis plus the phobia clinic helped me curb my fear. Phobias lurk. If you\u2019re lucky they\u2019re caged, but they\u2019re there.<\/p>\n

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