🗨️
MEME GENERATOR // @evanderwoodsen
Eric and Talia get stuck in an elevator together.
And to think, if it weren’t for the tiring combination of stiletto heels and a dress with a long train, Talia would’ve been in her private car headed home already. It was a little too early to be leaving the charity event—some people were just showing up as she exited, but her attention span was weak and her patience was wearing thin for the night. She had a deadline for midnight for her journalism class, for a profile piece she hadn’t even started writing yet and now it was looking like it would have to be submitted late. Why? Because now she was stuck in an elevator.
The funny part was, Talia didn’t even like elevators. She almost always took the stairs, but the wobbly, (very) high heels and the fifth of gin she had consumed in the two hours she spent at the event made her limited in her exiting options. She decided she could handle it—the unsettling feeling of her body fighting for equilibrium as the elevator moved between floors, the constrain of being in an air-tight, mirrored room with a maximum capacity of 1000 pounds.
And of course, the one time she willingly opts to rely on the mechanical death box that was the elevator, it stalled and trapped her in between the 10th and 11th floor. She was internally panicking for the first fifteen minutes—so much so that she hadn’t even bothered to talk to the other person in the elevator with her: Eric van der Woodsen.
It wasn’t until she moved to take off those damn heels that she actually looked at him. With her hand rested against the glass wall of the elevator, her other hand moved to undo the clasps of her heels; first her left, then her right. She very ungracefully slid against the wall to take a seat on the ground.
“So I take it you’re done freaking out now?” Eric asked with a half-smile. “Was it the realization that this is probably more fun than the actual event that did it?”
Talia shot him a lazy smile and reached around for her clutch. “I think what did it,” she drawled as she shuffled around with the contents of the bag, “Was the realization that I know exactly how to get us out.”
She pulled out a slim cylindrical container with a bright green cap and a black Bic lighter. Unscrewing the cap released the pungent, skunky smell of nature’s finest: Mary Jane. Talia reached into the container to pull out a rolled joint, and she rested it in between her lips as she flicked the lighter on. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Talia didn’t bother waiting for a response as she brought the flame to the tip of the joint, a puff of smoke following as she ignited it. “Old rich people hate the smell of weed—I can put money on it that we’ll be out of here within the next ten minutes.” She extended her dainty hand with the lit joint in it to Eric as she coughed out her next words, “You’re welcome.”
