On Escalators

Escalators are a funny thing, when you stop and think about it. Stairs are just as easy, and they’re safer, too. With those silly machines that are supposed to make life “easier”, I just feel like I’m about to be ripped to shreds by some… teeth or something. Call me crazy, and I probably am, but it’s like a death sentence whenever I have to ride one.


I had to ride one when my father went on a business trip. We dropped him off at the airport to see him off – mostly because I’m anal, and I think that I’ll never see him again if he leaves. Anyway, we dropped him off at the airport, and the parking garage took us to the top level. (It made no sense to me to have the parking garage take us to the top of the airport, but it unfortunately did.) And there, standing like some freak of nature, was my adversary. It didn’t seem to bother anyone else. People were riding up and down it like it was nothing at all.


Now, let me digress for just a moment.


The other day, I went with my niece and nephew to the dentist. I didn’t have an appointment, but the second I went in there, I felt like I was going to get sick. Nausea washed over me again and again like waves in the ocean. (I know that sounds clichéd, but they ebbed and flowed just like oceanic waves. Perhaps a better example would be… maybe… bingo balls in the rolly-cage?) My hands got all clammy and sweaty, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I started to shake and the fight or flight response took over, and let me tell you – flight was totally winning (and it had nothing to do with Charley Sheen).


I think that I was doing ok – I could deal with the whole nauseous thing and the sweaty thing, and I could even control the urge to run away. But then… then the drill started. And that was the worst!


Let me explain a little bit about how the dentist office is set up. The waiting area is separated from the patient area, and we were taken back to a single huge room that was divided into four sections. A patient was taken into each section. My niece was taken into a room, and my nephew was taken into a room. (Though I suppose “room” is a loose term at best.) There was this room across from the sudo-hallway where this guy was getting dental work done. The hygienist brought out this drill thing – but at the time I didn’t know what it was – and started work on him.


I didn’t notice the sound of the drill right away. I was too busy talking and laughing with my sister about how clammy my hands were. When I did notice the drill, the nausea almost won.


By the time I was ready to leave the office, I ran out, practically bowling over my nephew. (He’s like six-foot, so I really didn’t do much damage, but I still pushed him and flew out the door like the Hounds of Hell were at my heels.) I’m like this whenever I go to the dentist after I got my braces off.


It’s the same way when I face an escalator.


When we dropped my father at the airport, I wanted to go back to the parking garage. Daddy took my hand and told me to come on. I’m a bit of a daddy’s-girl, so I didn’t want to disappoint him. But I was seriously scared out of my wits. It was a panic –attack moment, and I really thought that I couldn’t do it.


But like the dentist, I went down the stupid machine to see Daddy off at the gate.


Speaking of stupid machines, escalators remind me of an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants. (Yes, I totally went there, defiling the sacred SpongeBob; my niece is sad.) In this episode, SpongeBob stayed up all night watching a “scary” movie about robots. The next day at work, the fry cook thinks that his boss, Mr. Krabs, is a robot because of the things he does. SpongeBob seriously thought that Mr. Krabs robot was going to take over the aquatic world they inhabit (aptly named Bikini Bottom).


Call me crazy, but sometimes I wonder how dependent we are on technology. And yes, escalators are technology, in my book at least. Look at how we obsess over the new phones and computers and music players – the newest devices and movies, how technological movies have become with all the computer generated effects. Take the book written by Stephen King, Cell, where, for some odd reason, cell phone signals turn people into quasi-zombies. One character, a velour sweat-suit wearing, high-class woman, was turned into a snarling, throat biting thing after the signal hit and she was talking on her cell.


Maybe escalators are like Transformers (ROBOTS IN DISGUISE!) waiting patiently to suck our brains from our prone bodies. Or maybe the escalators are like the mechanical teeth of a giant robot, the steps waiting, wanting to mash our bones to dust to make bread. Perhaps that’s also where some of the fear comes from. Either way, it’s a paranoid emotional rollercoaster.


Ups and downs and all arounds. Talk about directional confusion. At least that’s something that escalators can’t do. They may be fear-causing hidden robots, but they can’t take you sideways – or diagonal. (There are the motorized walkways, but I don’t wholly count those as escalators… they don’t take you up or down, after all.)


When I think about those vile things people use to avoid stairs, one of the things that come to mind is emotions. When people are up, they’re going up on the escalator. When they’re feeling down, they’re usually riding the escalator down. The uppers are chattering and laughing whereas the downers are talking quietly and hushed. The up direction seems like a party whereas the down direction seems like a funeral… without the fun.


Anyway, escalators are weird, crazy, scary-as-hell things. I, personally, couldn’t be happier with stairs to get me where I need to go. At least stairs can’t snag my shoelace or pantcuff and suffocate me. Stairs are a much safer option, and if I ever see another escalator again in my life, it will be too soon. (Although that might be sooner than I would like. The fates have a way of playing happy little tricks on me.)