Going Up? The Harrowing Ascent to the Yellow Brick Road

For a good five minutes, I was convinced I was going to have to listen to the Elton John concert while stuck in an elevator.

At, least, it felt like five minutes: the time it took for the elevator to arrive to take us up to our seats in the nosebleed section, where our seats were located at Ohio State University’s Schottenstein Center in Columbus, Ohio. We were there to see Elton John perform live for his Farewell Tour.

We were relieved, my friends and I, to see there was an elevator operator, who had an air of authority perched on a stool in front of the panel of elevator buttons.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” said a woman to the elevator operator. “Up, please.”

The man’s eyes widened and his hand froze mid-air as he turned to answer her. “Actually,” he said, a bit sheepishly, “I can’t control the elevator. It’s going down first.”

“You can’t control it?” Asked the woman. “Then why are you here?”

I hid my face behind my friend Jennifer, clenching my teeth. I was using my telepathic powers to tell the woman not to insult the non-operating elevator operator. Just. Be. Nice. I hate conflict, and the power to get us to our seats on time existed solely in his pointer finger.

I can’t be sure, but the “operator” seemed to shift to slow motion at that moment, keeping the doors to the elevator open, urging more people to get aboard.

“It’s too many people,” someone said. “They’ll never fit!”

“Sure they will,” said the man, waving more and more people in. I swear I felt the elevator lurch under the weight of us all. I took a deep breath, immediately regretting it. The wretched stench of French fries and Diet Coke, topped off with just a hint of body odor and too much hairspray was the perfect addition to this awful elevator ride.

We should’ve taken the stairs, I thought to myself. But it was a good idea too late. Only minutes before, it seemed as though taking the elevator might save some time. We were wrong.

The doors began closing, but popped open again when a passenger’s elbow jutted over the threshold.

“Suck it in!” Someone yelled. The doors closed, and there was a terrifying moment of stillness until the elevator car coughed to life and began its shaky journey — down first, then up. We could hear the first chords of “Bennie and the Jets” on the piano. The crowd was going wild. Elton had surely already taken the stage, and we were missing it. The sound was muffled inside the damp, stinky elevator. We passed the second floor. The remaining moments to the third floor felt like an eternity. Because worst-case scenarios are my superpower, I could clearly envision the likelihood of the elevator malfunctioning at that exact moment, somewhere between floors. We’d be forced to listen to the legendary rockstar from inside this claustrophobic pod, squished between sweaty shoulders.

The elevator doors opened and we rushed out, our heartbeats pounding in our ears along to the driving beat of glam rock:

She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit/

You know I read it in a magazine/

B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets

The concert was fabulous. The crowd was electric. Elton, now 75 years old, seemed to feed off the energy of the fans. Lights flashed over the audience and made sequins sparkle and feather boas quiver. I wondered what it would feel like, to have 20,000 people cheering for you, looking at you in awe and adoration the way we were looking at him.

The woman sitting beside me told me Elton John was the soundtrack of her high school years. I glanced at her each time the next tune started. She closed her eyes and her hands covered her heart. “This is my favorite one,” she’d mouth to me. It turns out just about every song was her favorite one. Nearly every word was written on her heart.

I’m glad I shelled out the money for this ticket. I enjoyed the five-hour joyride with my close friends from Chicago to Columbus. I will always remember that I saw fans of all ages: a toddler in a gold sequined jacket, women wearing platform shoes, and a grandmother in a wheelchair sporting giant bedazzled sunglasses. I loved the way everyone seemed happy, the way strangers exchanged knowing looks because we all shared a love for Elton John’s music.

Most of all, kudos to the elevator “operator” who got us there safely … in his own time. We made it.