Locked out. . .

\"I\'ve never had an elevator break down on me,\" I said to the brown-eyed, auburn-haired stranger, I was riding it with on 450 Sutter Street, San Francisco.  

\"Shh, shh,\" she admonished, laying a finger on her lips.  \"Don\'t say it out loud.  This one\'s already broken down twice.\"

\"What did you do, then?\" I asked with morbid curiosity, a die-hard suburbanite visiting San Francisco for the day and looking for some tame adventure.  Being rescued from a stuck elevator would qualify.

She shrugged and exited the elevator with rapid strides.  I continued on to my floor and was a little disappointed when I arrived without any upheaval.  The lingering disappointment remained with me after I\'d been examined by my doctor and found \'healthy as a horse.\'  Time to go home to placid Pleasanton.