Like everyone else, I have fears that are completely irrational, which means they make absolutely no sense. This will be a series of posts as I have quite a few irrational fears and stories that go along with them.
I used to love escalators. I would go to a certain place just to ride on the escalator over and over and over. But then, once, I didn’t step perfectly between the lines while it was flat and my heel caught on the edge of the step behind me as it began to rise and while I didn’t nearly fall, or actually fall, it frightened me. This one mishap wasn’t enough to completely eradicate my lifelong love of escalators, but when it happened again, my lifelong love of escalators was completely eradicated.
Once, we were trying to go down an escalator, as most people tend to try with escalators. My father was holding my and my brother’s hands. This was before I realized that I was afraid of escalators.
As we approached the escalators, I began to hyperventilate and generally freak out.
My brother stepped onto the deadly moving staircase first, followed by my father, but my legs had locked into place and they would not move.
The arm that was locked in my father’s hand began to stretch as they moved further down the deathtrap and my father attempted to urge me to come.
My brother nearly fell down the escalator.
Another time, we were visiting somewhere or the other. Niagra Falls or something, I believe. By this time, I had overcome my fear of escalators that traveled in an upward direction, but escalators that traveled in a downward direction still frightened me as much as they had before.
We had gone up to a viewing platform on the second floor using an escalator. I was very proud of having boarded the death trap. But I was stuck on the second floor. I could not get down using the elevator.
The rest of my family had already gone to the lower floor, but once again, my legs refused to walk to the escalator. They were urging from the bottom for me to be brave, to face my fears.
A friendly stranger tried to help me down as well. He held my hand as we prepared to step onto the escalator, but once more, the stranger went down and I remained up… somehow.
My father had to come back up and find an elevator.
Once, after the first story, but before the second, I was forced to face yet another escalator. This was before I had gotten over my fear of escalators that travel in an upward direction.
We were in an airport and a horrifying escalator was looming before me, waiting to pounce.
A nice couple (who were also strangers) attempted to help me up the deadly staircase, but I predictably did not step foot onto the escalator and they went upstairs without me. We once again had to search for an elevator.
I have conquered my fear of escalators that go in an upward direction, but I have yet to completely vanquish escalators that go in a downward direction. I sometimes am able to go on them when I am in a particularly daring mood, which is not often.
If at all possible, I will take the stairs or an elevator.