Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly yellow pallor over Brenda’s meticulously coiffed hair. She glared at Mark, who was fiddling with his tie. Typical. Always the picture of disarray. Three hours trapped with *this*…She had a gala to attend, a crucial networking opportunity that would, quite frankly, elevate her career beyond his wildest comprehension. Now, thanks to the shoddy maintenance of this archaic building, she’d be lucky to salvage the remnants of her mascara.

"Well," Mark began, his voice surprisingly chipper. "At least we have company, eh?" He gestured towards the ceiling, as if the elevator cables themselves were comrades.

Brenda crossed her arms, her jaw tight. "Do you have any idea how much money I'm losing, trapped in here?" she asked, her voice laced with ice. "This is not a social event, Mark. It's a catastrophe."