Italian Neighbors

While I am pretty sure that getting stuck in an elevator is one of the worst ways to fully realize the extent of the language barrier, it is a decent opportunity to meet your neighbors. Matt and I spend a solid hour stuck between floor three and four yesterday afternoon, accompanied by a bag of garbage and perhaps fifty sugar ants. With Mia and our neighbors' help, the elevator repairman was called, and showed up in decent time. For the half-dozen or so people who happened to walk down the stairs during our stint in the elevator, we did our best to convey that we were ok, yes, it was stuck, and that someone was supposedly helping us. I pride myself on my nonverbal skills, but this adventure proved their limit. The majority of our neighbors seemed mostly annoyed to have to walk up the stairs, but we left at least one poor young woman slightly panicked and she (and her ancient grandmother) did their best to free us. Matt may be of a different opinion, but I think getting stuck in an Italian elevator is preferable to an American. While it seems a little flimsy and you are perhaps more scared of falling to your death, it was also made primarily out of wire, which made it easier to communicate to the outside, easier to get air (although it was still caldo!), and pretty easy to force the doors open and climb out of when we were finally rescued.