The Elevator Pitch
Jeremiah was known as a hardworking, grizzled hotel maintenance man, diligently doing his job for as long as anyone could remember. The fifty-year-old Jeremiah had always had a bottle of whiskey stashed away somewhere - on him, in his tools bag, or a corner in the basement. As years passed by, he started consuming it more often, even on the job, adding a slightly hiccupy rhythm to his gait and an unnecessary loudness to his laugh.
The slow response of Jeremiah's alcohol problem reached its peak one morning when he'd started secretly sipping on the job. No sooner than the hotel started filling with guests, a string of curse words was heard. Arguments quickly broke out. His erratic behavior irritated the housekeeping staff. His intoxicated outbursts interrupted the concierge while talking to the guests, his slackened efficiency slowed the bellboys.
Every day the hotel would turn into a chaotic battleground. Jeremiah’s previously amusing joviality started overshadowing his once dutiful and diligent personality. Despite repeated attempts from his co-workers and pleas from friends, Jeremiah continued his midday sipping sessions.
One evening, it was just Jeremiah and Jennifer, the hotel manager, in the elevator. The entire staff had called it a day and most guests had retreated to their rooms.
Breaking the stifling silence, Jeremiah said, loudly, Mm mm mm, you sure looking good, Jennifer. I could do some things with you.
Jennifer's stern eyes glared back at him, reflecting the high-handed audacity Jeremiah had been exhibiting recently. That's it, You’re Fired Jeremiah, she finally snapped. Hand over the keys and leave the property. Thank you for your services.
A flash of anger crossed Jeremiah’s bloodshot eyes. He stood silent for a moment, pulling his liquor flask from his pocket and placing the maintenance keys in Jennifer's open hand. Fired Fine! he finally growled.
Jeremiah was defiant, a vague grin playing on his face, I can go back and sit on my porch and finish drinking my liquor.
As the elevator doors opened onto the dimly lit parking lot, Jennifer looked back one last time. Jeremiah stood in the middle of the lot, bottle in hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter under the setting sun.
Years of toil had given way to an end neither of them had anticipated. His jingling laughter echoed through the hallways long after he had left, leaving a void that was more than just a missing maintenance man.