It doesn't take much to scare me. Scratch that; it takes absolutely nothing to scare me. Chances are, you could be telling me a funny story and I would start shaking uncontrollably in my Michael Kors boots just because it's dark out.
And my mind wanders.
Sometimes I wonder what it says about me that my mind can go to such dark places. But it does. So who am I to dwell?
And you may think it could be explained away. Like: girl watches too many scary movies. Except that I don't. Not even scary commercials. When those come on I cover my ears, close my eyes, and LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALAAAAAA until Graham smacks me; signifying the commercials' end. So no, there is no explanation except that I am a weenie. A big oscar-meyer-scardy-mcweiner-face.
So imagine my sheer horror when, the first time I made my way up to my advisor's lab, I was faced with THIS:
An elevator so scary... soooo old... so absolutely terrifying that every time I am in it my internal dialogue goes something like this:
Dear God, Please don't let a face pop up in that window. Please, please, please don't be a face. Pleasedontbeaface! Pleasedontbeaface! Pleasedontbeaface! PLEASE DON'T BE A FACE!!!
If I fail out of grad school I am blaming it, solely and completely, on that elevator. And then I'll go to the Dean and complain because HOW CAN THEY EXPECT PEOPLE TO FEEL SAFE IN A SCHOOL WITH ELEVATORS LIKE THAT?!?