Game Over
I have always, always, always been scared of escalators. There is just something menacing about them.
In one of my worst escalator nightmares (there are several, all of which end in me being got by one in a different awful way), I have, somehow, and I don’t know how anyone could do this – especially when they take such care to assess the dangerousness of an escalator before setting foot on it – got on one which goes down and meets another at the bottom. In the bit in between the two are blades which threaten to cut me to pieces. This is why I avoid escalators at all costs.
But sometimes you just have to get on one, don’t you? You have to face that fear.
Especially when you are on a date with a girl (and she is very attractive, and a member of the British association of cosmetic doctors , and, thus, loaded).
It was all going well until she said to me, half way down the escalator, “are you okay?” and I said, “not really, I have an intense and debilitating fear of these bloody things.”
She smiled, said not to worry because nobody ever got hurt on one, and then screamed loudly. I panicked and looked down–she was now crouching and screaming “my lace! It’s stuck in it!”
My heart started to go thump-thump-thump. My worst fears had been realized. Someone I might potentially fall in love with was about to become an escalator victim!
As we neared the bottom, at the bit where she would be torn limb from limb, she started to laugh as I tried in vein to pull her lace free. Then she walked off the escalator and said, “my god! You should have seen your face!”
I pointed my finger at her and said, “I think this date is over, don’t you?”
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