Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, a maddening strobe in the cramped metal box. Sarah clenched her jaw, the muscles in her face tightening with each erratic pulse. Three hours. She glared at the "Out of Service" sign plastered haphazardly across the control panel. That useless Mr. Henderson, the building superintendent, was probably off enjoying a leisurely lunch while they were trapped.

Her colleague, Mark, was humming some inane tune. She almost snapped. Instead, she took a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in her hands. The air was thick, stale. It felt like the walls were closing in, squeezing the oxygen from her lungs.

"Do you *mind*?" she finally managed, her voice tight. "That infernal noise is not helping."

He just looked at her, blinking. Sarah fought the urge to stomp her foot. Three more hours, and she'd be late for her dinner reservation. And then what? She’d just have to call and cancel. Utterly ruined.