early morning adventure

So it's 7am, I walk into Russell Square tube station on early-morning-autopilot. Get into the lift which will take me down to the platform level to get the Piccadilly line to work. Three other people get in as well - that early, the station is relatively quiet.

The lift descends. The lift announcer tells us we're at platform level, and to turn right for both East and West-bound trains. The doors start to open.

That's as far as they get. About a centimetre open. Then - bang. They slam shut again. And repeat - open a crack, machinery grinding - before they slam shut.

Fabulous. Doors stuck.

I roll my eyes. We all stand there for about five minutes, fully aware the doors seem to be broken, waiting for a member of staff to respond. Finally someone speaks to us over the lift intercom. They're sending someone down.

A couple minutes later and we can hear the staff members on the other side of the doors. They start to open again, and it sounds as if the employees are trying to drag the doors open with their hands. Even I could've told you that's not going to work. They try the doors the other side - these lifts having exits both sides, for crowd control. No dice.

We've now been down here about half an hour, probably. Time is ticking on. What started off being vaguely amusing is getting kind of annoying. A voice over the intercom asks us if we're alright. The other woman in the elevator starts getting lary with them. She's going to be late for work. Aren't we all, honey.

My phone starts to ring. Reception at the bottom of the lift shaft? I had no idea. It's my sister. She starts rabbiting on about Buffy, of all things. I tell her we're stuck in the lift and I'll call her later, then hang up. Offer my phone to the others in there with me - the lady takes it, calls her office to say she's stuck and going to be late. An American guy tells us he's on his way to Heathrow. Gonna miss that plane.

More sounds of struggle from the outside of the lifts. Perhaps the TFL staff have thought to get a crowbar or something, to pry the doors open? Nope, they're just pressing buttons. Excellent. Well done. They tell us there's an emergency hatch, but someone has to go and get the key. Okay, we'll wait. Not like we've got anything else to do.

Ten minutes later and we hear someone behind the wall panels, in the shaft between our elevator and the neighbouring one (there being three lifts in total at Russell Square station). They talk among themselves, seem to fiddle with something, leave again.

Good. Not getting anywhere quickly. This whole experience is not doing much to restore the very little faith I had in TFL.

Eventually the lift starts to move, back up to street level. The intercom tells us the fire brigade have been called. Fucking finally. Why didn't they do this 45 minutes ago?

Though annoyed and pissed off that I'm now going to be marvellously late for work, having gotten up so early, I realise my palms are a little sweaty now we've just been hauled 100 foot back up the lift shaft, and it's still broken. If they're going to piss around with the mechanics of the elevator I'm stuck in, I'm damn sure I'd rather it was sat at the bottom of the shaft on the ground than suspended that high up.

More crashing and banging from outside and suddenly an emergency hatch in the wall opposite me swings open.

'You alright in there?'

Fuck no we're not. We've been in here an hour and a half, almost. The American who's missing his plane is really pissed off, the other guy is rolling his eyes, the lady is on the verge of a panic attack, I'm annoyed and a little jumpy.

It's a mechanic. He swings in through the narrow emergency escape doorway, reaches back out and pulls across a ladder, that now bridges the gap between our elevator and the roof of the neighbouring one that has been specially lowered.

So let me get this straight. Our lift is a few feet below street level. The lift next to us is a few feet below us, so that the roof of that lift is just above the floor of ours. A fireman's ladder now crosses the echoing 100 foot drop between us. And they want us to crawl across that ladder, stand on the roof of the next lift, then climb another ladder from the roof of that to street level.

You have GOT to be joking.

The mechanic passes all our bags to the fireman opposite who passes them to street level. Then we're off. The other lady goes first, crawling across the ladder to a waiting fireman, who puts her over his shoulder, swings her round to the ladder to street level. Now me (what gallant gentlemen we're sharing the stuck lift with!). Just keep reminding myself not to look down. Don't look down... Get to the other lift. Eschew the offer of the fireman's shoulder for finding my own footing. Climb the other ladder, get to solid ground... and suddenly my hands are shaking so badly I can't even hold the cup of water I'm offered.

Holy crap what a ridiculous morning.

I just about manage to text my sister to tell her we're finally out, but it takes twice as long as usual, my hands are too shaky to hit the right keys. I want to just head back home - 60 seconds away, round the corner - but my sister, who stayed over, currently has my house keys.

The TFL staff jump into action, and, bless them, are actually very good. They offer us water and sweet tea or coffee, they write us letters to take to work or airlines so we've proof of why we're late and can get money back if necessary. They call us cabs to take us where we need to get to (like hell I'm getting back on the Tube this morning). I discover they've had to shut the whole flipping station down while we've been stuck which is, I have to admit, kind of awesome (the grilles are down and Russell Square being as busy a station as it is, the crowds are packed outside).

I jump in a cab down to Waterloo and get the mainline back West to work. The shakes eventually stop (I'm slightly disappointed with myself, I thought I was made of stronger stuff), and it's rather fun reciting the story to everyone (people take delight in telling me "Ohmigod it's like Speed or something!" Yes, without Dennis Hopper as mad bomber or any rescuer remotely as hot as Keanu Reeves).

End up bunking off work early as I feel I've had quite enough adventures for one day and there's a latent headache that's been building since the mechanic pulled the ladder into the lift about to explode, so go back to my parents' (a mere 10 minute bus ride from my work, and no elevators or tube trains involved!) and resolve from now on I'll forego the lifts and take the stairs at Russell Square every time, even if there are 177 of them.