Paul the Critic is a chain story started by Tobi. For Part One of the story, see The Elevator.

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Part Two: Stuck in an Elevator with a Chatterbox 

“No reception.” He grumbled. Okay, now I really am having a bad day, he thought as he pushed the alarm button.

No alarm sounded. He pushed the button again and only hoped that somewhere, in an office or on another floor, a bell was ringing for someone to hear. “Just great,” he mumbled to no one in particular. 

The chatterbox looked at him with wide eyes and a pale face. He could almost see the words forming in her brain, ready to spill out and assault him like a rain deluge. He turned slightly away from her to give the impression he didn’t feel like talking. It didn’t work.

“Oh. My. Goodness.” She started slowly, drawing out each syllable in a dramatic voice. “This is just, like, horrible! What am I going to do? I, like, can’t miss this show! And Darius, when I don’t come home, he’ll be so worried.” Slowly she gained speed until her words were being spewed into the air, tripping over each other in their haste to be heard. “And I don’t have, like, anything to eat or drink. I don’t have my cell phone to call anybody. What if it is a terrorist attack? What if the power went out? What if the lights turn off? We’ll be in here in the dark!” With a squeal, she flounced closer to Paul and acted like she might grab his arm to keep from falling should they suddenly be plunged in darkness.

He reacted quickly and lunged for the panel of buttons. One step was all it took to avoid her, and he frantically began pushing the alarm button again. Work. Work. He thought, as if by sheer concentration and strength of mind he could cause the alarm to sound. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Why me? He almost moaned it out loud.

Hearing a sniffle, he chanced a brief look over his shoulder. In the corner, she had crumpled into a pile, her jacket flung out beside her, her bag left where she dropped it, and that pesky shoe in the other corner where she stood before she had grabbed for his arm. Tears had begun to course their way down her cheeks. Oh brother, he thought. I didn’t think this could get worse, but I think it just has. The last thing he wanted was an emotional, hysterical woman on his hands. Any other place and he could just walk away from it, but here, well, he was a bit stuck with her.

With a small quick breath, she began to talk again, this time even faster and higher-pitched. “How long does it take to dehydrate? Do you think we will miss the show? What if Lucy is worried? What’s the matter with this thing anyway? Have you ever been stuck in an elevator? Do you think we will die here? What ARE we going to do?” This last question was wailed out, and her chest began to heave with a forthcoming sob.

“It’s okay.” Paul tried to comfort her without stepping closer, but even verbal comforting was new territory for him. It was completely out of character for him to say such a thing, but in this situation, it was obviously in his best interest to try to calm her down. “Someone will get us out of here. We aren’t going to die, much less dehydrate or starve. It’s probably just a minor problem they are already working on.”

Just then, they heard a thud above them, followed by a few gentle thump, as if someone was walking on the elevator. The girl who had just acted like a rag doll, flopped helplessly on the floor, now jumped up as if she had a new life. “HELP!” she began screaming at the top of her lungs. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

From above, Paul heard the muffled voice of a man, but it was hard to distinguish what exactly he was saying, partly because of the metal barrier between them, partly because of the girl next to him jumping and screaming. “Shush.” he tried to scold her, but she couldn’t be stopped. “You know,” he said very calmly as he grabbed her arm (he rarely raised his voice), “If you would just shut up, we could hear what he is saying to us.”

“Oh.” She stopped jumping as soon as she computed what he said. Then she shouted to the roof, “We’re listening now.” But there was no sound. Not a voice, not a scuffling, not a thud, not even a scratch. Whoever had been there was now gone.

They stood in an awkward silence for nearly a minute. Paul definitely preferred this over everything that had gone before. They were both straining, listening for any little sound, but the elevator was heavy, solid, and nearly impenetrable to sound.

Just then, there was a screech, and the doors slid apart by almost half an inch. The girl screamed in fright, as the noise had startled her concentration. Paul just sighed. Finally, maybe there is an end to this madness. In less than five more minutes, the workmen had pried the doors apart enough for them to squeeze through. Paul barely gave a cursory glance to the girl, who was frantically pouring out all the details of what had happened to the workers who opened the door. They were now her helpless victims and he could continue his way downstairs. He didn’t give a word of thanks to the men, just walked off in long strides, nearly running for the stairs. Down the remaining flights he went, through the lobby, out the door, and stepped into his waiting car.

Finally…quiet. He leaned back and closed his eyes. His ears seemed to almost be thanking him for the reprieve. He may have even dozed off, but before he knew it, the driver had pulled up in front of the opera house. Taking a deep breath and straightening his tie, he stepped out of the car door and headed for the large glass entrance.

The air was charged with anticipation as he stepped through the lush corridors to his customary seat. The opera had just started, and he hated being late, even if it was just by half a minute. Making himself comfortable, he was soon in full-critic mode, scribbling notes like a madman.

“Pppaaauuuullll!!!” He heard someone screeching his name. The people in front of him turned around annoyed at the disturbance. At first, he was puzzled and bewildered, but it all came back to him at the same exact moment he saw the girl with curly brown hair flying towards him. Oh no, he groaned. It’s her again!

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Part Three: Stuck at the Opera with a Chatterbox will be written by Aimee