A couple of quick steps and I make it to the elevator just as the doors start to close. I nod to acknowledge my six companions. We don’t know each other, but there’s the familiarity that comes with shared experiences.

I reach out to press the button for the lobby but there’s no need. A glow around the button shows that it has already been pressed. Like my companions, I stand with my feet slightly apart, then take out my phone. As usual there is no signal inside the elevator, but we all go through the motions anyway. After all, a bit of pretence is much better than making small talk these days.

The elevator descends to the twelfth floor then stops. The doors slide open to let another person in. That makes eight and it’s definitely starting to feel a bit too crowded for my liking. I consider getting out on 11 and summoning another elevator, but there’s no guarantee that would be any better. I’ll stay where I am. It will only take a minute or two and then I’ll be out in the lobby.

As if sensing my thoughts and deciding to prove me wrong, the elevator comes to a halt. We’re somewhere between floors, but that’s okay. We’ll be moving again in a flash.

Except we’re not. The only other woman in the elevator coughs and the man beside her steps another pace away. I can’t say I blame him. After the pandemic we’re all conscious of how easily viruses can spread, especially in confined spaces.

The seconds tick by and there’s still no movement. The man on my left is starting to perspire.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Claustrophobia,” he replies. There’s no need for him to say any more.

“We’ll be moving real soon,” I say, then glance back at my useless phone screen.

We all stand in an increasingly uncomfortable silence until the man I’d just spoken to reaches out and jabs at the buttons. He presses them all in descending order and mutters: “Come on... Come on.”

“Don’t confuse it,” another man says, and I can tell by his tone that he’s only half joking.

The pressing of buttons made no difference. We are still motionless; still trapped together between floors.

“Try the panic button.” I don’t know who suggested that but I reach out and press the alarm. There’s no sound but should there be? We know there’s a problem. The alarm will be going off in the maintenance department and someone will soon get the problem fixed.

The seconds continue to tick by. My companions are all getting increasingly restive. The man on my left is getting really pale and his breathing has sped up. I want to tell him to stop consuming all the oxygen but, knowing that might make him worse, I hold my tongue.

Up until now we’ve at least had light. That’s good. While there’s power it can’t be anything major. The light flickers, once, twice, then fails completely, plunging us into darkness.

“Oh, god,” the man beside me says, in almost a sob. “We’re never going to get out of here.”

“Don’t be daft,” I snap. “We’re in the office elevator, not a movie.” My phone is getting low on battery but there’s still enough power for the flash-light function to work.

The claustrophobic man is no longer the only one of my companions who is close to freaking out. And it’s catching. The more the others get nervous, the more I start to feel the same way. I can still try to rationalize with myself, still tell myself we’ll be moving again any second now, but the more seconds that pass with us still motionless, the less I find myself believing it.

The elevator gives a lurch and, as one, we all cry out. Breath held, we wait for the movement to continue. It doesn’t. We’re still stuck.

“We’re never going to get out of here!” The man on my left starts hitting the wall, roughly where the buttons are located.

“Stop that!” Another man pushes him away. And we’re all being pushed against each other. There is not enough space for this kind of behavior.

“Are we going to die?” A woman’s voice, thankfully not mine. “I don’t want to die.”

Why did she have to go and say that?

The man on my left who was already freaking out, is now flinging himself at the doors. I’m not sure if I’m more concerned that they’ll open or stay closed. Two of my fellow occupants grab hold of the man and move him to the rear of the elevator. My flash-light flickers but I can still see enough; he is crouched on the ground, his head in his hands and the other woman is starting to lose control too.

My battery dies. There are several whimpers, a couple of muttered prayers. I consider asking if anyone else has battery left in their phones, but decide it’s better to say nothing. My nails are digging into the flesh on my hands that are clenched so tightly. Seeing the other occupants fall apart is not going to help how I feel; hearing them is bad enough.

“This is getting ridiculous,” someone growls.

And it is. I agree with him totally. A normal day at work has descended into hysterical chaos. I’m going to need a fortnight’s holiday just to recover. I honestly would not be surprised if there are some resignations following this.

The light flickers above our heads. Once. Twice. Finally it manages to stay on. What a pitiful sight we all make. I think I preferred it when it was dark.

Then the elevator starts to move. We all have our eyes fixed on the buttons, not daring to quite believe that our ordeal is over. It is only when we reach the first floor and the elevator continues to smoothly descend that I allow myself to breathe again. We all make a quick effort to regain our composure before the doors slide open and we make a rather undignified scramble to reach the lobby.

“Sorry about that, folks.” Someone from maintenance is brave enough, or perhaps stupid enough, to put themselves in the firing line.

“What took you so long?” It’s the claustrophobic man.

“Twenty minutes to fix a major fault? I think we did a remarkable job.” Mr Maintenance was not expecting criticism.

My mind is stuck on his words, trying to make sense of them. Twenty minutes? Surely it was much longer than that. I feel like I’ve aged twenty years! Careful to avoid looking at any of the mirrored panels, I make my way to the main doors that lead to the street, vowing that I’ll avoid elevators for the foreseeable future. The only problem is the twelve flights of stairs. Perhaps I could wrangle a transfer to some other department – one located on floor level 1.