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Confessions of Atychiphobia
Posted on: Thursday, January 17, 2008 Posted at: Confessions of Atychiphobia
I was atychiphobia as I was afraid of failure.“Chug..... Chug.... Chug.....” the lift chugged up slowly. Normally noiseless, it was unusually noisy today. Somewhere below us, the mechanical pulleys clinked raucously as the lift groaned for all it was worth. Something was not quite right with this dirty old lift. That was my second time was taking the lift to the ground floor. I would usually take the stairs as I only lived on the fifth storey. That lift I always avoided like the plague. This how it had happened to me. The dirty old lift had foul-smelling and filthy as banana peels, cigarette stubs and decomposing food lay scattered on its floor. I was convinced that there was no other lift in Singapore that was more foul-smelling and filthy. However, time was not on my side this time around. I was already fifteen minutes late for my tuition. If I bypassed the lift, I would have to scramble all the way. The ten of us were packed like a can of sardines in the lift, if one did not include the scruffy, stray kitten crouching at the corner. Eight grown-ups, a wailing baby and the primary six boy on the brink of puberty. I covered my nose in disgust at the sight of houseflies buzzing merrily around a banana peel and a piece of decomposing cake that lay scattered on the floor. Suddenly, there was a spluttering sound. The lift cabin swayed and jiggled for a few seconds before it came to a halt. It was power failure! There was a collective groan. Everybody knew what a jammed lift meant. “Buzz....” I pressed the emergency button. There was no sound. I pressed again. Nothing happened. It was not working. Why I was not surprised? The air getting stale and hot. The women were sweating profusely while the men were dripping buckets. The wailing baby wailed even louder. The stray cat purred agitatedly. Fingers punched hand phones vigorously, trying to make contact with the outside world. It was both nauseating and suffocating at the same time. With my examinations just around the corner, an ordeal in a miserable, stinking lift was not exactly the best of preparations. I slunk to the ground, covered my ears and prayed. Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock... my sports watch ticked ominously. Thirty minutes passed... then an hour. Were we ever going to be saved? With the heart in my mouth, I waited... and waited... and waited. When the lift finally prised open by lift mechanics three hours later, they found me slumped pitifully on the floor, completely inebriated by the enveloping staleness of the lift air. Oblivious to the frenzied cries of relief that were erupting wildly from around me, I tried staggering out. Unfortunately, everybody have the same idea as me. Bump! Bump! Bump! In the ensuing stampede, I was “crushed” like a pancake and ended up black and blue all over! Now there, who said that lift rides were boring? And that caused me to fear of failure.