The fluorescent lights in the elevator hummed, a shrill, grating noise that felt like it was drilling into Mark's skull. He slammed his fist against the unresponsive call button again, the metal cold and unyielding against his skin. This was the third time he’d tried, and the lack of response was a tangible insult. He paced the cramped space, his tie now loosened and askew, the knot practically choking him.
He glared at Sarah, his coworker, who was calmly fiddling with her phone, seemingly unfazed. “Don’t you find this a bit… inconvenient?” he spat, the words laced with barely-contained fury. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to rip the doors off their hinges.
His jaw clenched so tightly he could feel the muscles strain. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, leaving it standing on end. Three hours. Three hours trapped in a box with Sarah, the woman who always “forgot” to file the reports on time.
He felt his chest tighten, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He pressed his palms against the cool metal walls, trying to ground himself, but the metal just reflected his own simmering frustration back at him. This was not how he planned to spend his afternoon.