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| Sunday, 18 May 2003 |
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A nightmare I had just concluded my business on a happy note with the Estate Duty Division on the twelfth floor of the Department of Inland Revenue and with a feeling of relief made my way towards the lift. A visit to the Department of Inland Revenue is always a chilling experience however trivial the matter concerned maybe. Lift While I was waiting for the lift to ascend to the twelfth floor, the number of individuals around me increased rapidly. It was near noon and most members of the staff working on that floor and the unfortunate tax-payers who had received invitations for interviews were waiting. As usual only one lift was working and when it finally came up and its doors slid open I was promptly propelled forward into the back of the lift by the surging crowd behind me. I then found myself with my back pressed against the back of the lift firmly wedged between a lady of enormous proportions who sweated profusely on my left and a short bald headed gentleman with a thick-lensed pair of spectacles on my right. He had a stiff plastic covered file tucked under his arm. The sharp point of one corner of the file was firmly embedded between my third and fourth ribs. I turned my head in his direction, it was the only part of my body which I was able to move, to ask him kindly to pull back his file a bit before it penetrated my rib cage. When however I saw the expression on his face I changed my mind and decided to suffer in silence and even chance my rib cage being ventilated. He reminded me very much of John Christie the infamous serial killer of London in the forties. It was obvious that he had not been as fortunate as me that morning at his interview with his assessor. I was certain that if I had spoken to him about his file sticking into my ribs he would have immediately, with the greatest of pleasure, begun doing 'open heart surgery' on me with his lethal file. In front of me, I had a young lady pasted against me with the top of her head right under my nose. Drifted Suddenly my thoughts drifted back to my school days when we used to visit the Sarasvathi Lodge to eat Masala Vade. What had triggered off these nostalgic memories in me became soon apparent. It was the aroma which emanated from the young lady's head. She had daubed her hair with gingelly oil. Soon the lift was loaded to capacity. When the doors slid shut I began to have serious doubts about the number of people who would be alive by the time the lift reached the ground floor. The Oxygen content inside the lift seemed to be fast depleting and the air was getting more and more rarefied by the minute. Halt The lift operator pressed the button on the control panel to make the lift descend. Promptly the lift ascended about three feet and came to a dead halt. The lift operator then began to give the button several jabs but there was no response at all. He then gave up this exercise thank God as it was futile. The lift had decided not to budge. The operator then pressed another button on the panel which had the word 'ALARM' below it. This button apparently when pressed made an alarm bell ring way down in the maintenance room where the mechanics were found. On hearing this the mechanics were supposed to come to our rescue. Ten spine chilling minutes passed but no mechanics came. The operator then repeated his performance by giving a series of violent jabs coupled with curses to the 'ALARM' button, but the response was a repeat of the former. Either the 'ALARM' bell like the lift was out of order or the mechanics did not believe in wasting their lunch interval and had gone out shopping! It was now clear to me that fifteen more minutes in this lift would mean everyone being suffocated to death to be eventually found like Danish sardines in a tightly packed can. I therefore turned my eyes to heaven and began praying for a miracle. Response The lift operator as if in response to my prayer received divine inspiration to wedge his fingers into the rubber lining where the two doors met to try and force open the doors by pulling them apart. Then the miracle took place - the doors slid open. When the doors opened wide it was revealed that the life entrance opening was now reduced by three feet in height as the lift had ascend three feet. In addition, the floor of the lift was three feet above the twelfth floor of the building. This meant that in order to get out of the lift one had to bend down to get through the shorter entrance and then jump off to land on the building floor three feet below. Leapt The more dexterous individuals leapt out the moment the doors slid open. the crowd behind were anxiously waiting for those in front to get off so that they too could leap to freedom but we found that there was a hold up. One chubby clerk with a 'beer barrel' for a stomach was causing the hold up. He was bent in two with his head out of the lift and his arms stretched out on either side gripping the two unfortunate individuals on his left and right. He was too nervous to jump off thinking he would slip into the three feet gap between the lift floor and the floor of the building. He was sure that he would go hurling down the lift shaft right to the ground floor. He also refused to let go his iron grip on the two on either side of him. He then told the operator that the lift was much lighter now as some had got off and without doubt it would now function properly. The operator without the slightest hestitation pressed the button for the doors to close. Immediately the doors hissed shut nearly on the rotund clerk's fat neck who managed to draw in his head in time. With an assinine grin on his face he pressed the button for the lift to descend but it did not budge. This was followed by a third performance of jabbing the 'ALARM' button accompanied by curses. I once again implored God for a repeat of the miracle. Tugged The operator dug his fingers between the rubber lining of the closed doors and tugged and tugged and tugged, suddenly the doors slid open again. I thanked heaven for the repeat performance and got ready to scramble to freedom. But 'Mr. Beer Barrel' who was still in front had got cold feet again and was giving a repeat performance too. Any second now this man was going to make another idiotic suggestion which would be obeyed by his operator friend. I knew I could not ask heaven for a third miracle. Imminent action had to be taken by me to avoid dying in the Department of Inland Revenue of all places. I decided to forget all the manners instilled into me by my parents and school teachers during my youth and deliberately fell against the young lady with the gingelly scented hair in front of me. She shot forward and landed against the protruding back of the half bent Fatty. As a result Fatty was hurled out of the lift and landed on his beer barrel on the floor three feet below the lift with a resounding thud. I then mumbled a hasty, "I am so sorry" to the young lady. I did not look back until my feet were safely planted on terra firma. I then made a firm resolution never to take the lift in the Department of Inland Revenue even if it meant climbing all twelve flights. My heart just wouldn't endure another nightmare. Upatissa Attygalle. |
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