The failure of a suburban operative

After he passed me the bank document, Murphy asked me if I was sure I knew my escape route from the building.

"Same way I came in, right?" I asked, although I knew his answer before he said it. "Affirmative. It's a secure building, so don't make any mistakes." I gave him a quick hug to let him know I appreciated his concern. I had visited this man and this building several times in recent months, so I was fairly familiar with the layout. Taking care to fit into my surroundings so as not to look out of place on security cameras, I pushed the button for the elevator and waited.

Once inside I pressed the button for the first floor, but when the door opened, I didn't recognize my whereabouts. I realized that it was the first time I had left the building alone, and I was embarrassed to think I had not paid attention. I quickly re-entered the elevator and pushed the button for "Parking" thinking it would take me to the street-level parking aka: "Designated Smoking." I got off the elevator and the door closed behind me.

Oh, oh, I thought to myself. This is not street level, it's underground parking. I pushed the elevator button, but nothing happened. The door to the stairs was nearby, but I found that the door was locked. Secure building, indeed! I walked around the periphery of the garage looking for an emergency exit with no luck at all. There was a small air vent well at the far end, but I decided I didn't want to trash my clothes before the next phase of my assignment at the bank.

I went to the wrought iron entrance gate which sat at the bottom of a steep driveway, but I had no remote to activate the sensor. I suppose I could look in the parked cars until I saw a control, but I didn't want to take the chance of setting off an alarm. I swallowed my pride and pushed the call button on my phone. Maybe the other operative would find it funny, and not report me to Operations for my carelessness. The screen on my phone seemed to shout "CALL FAILED." I had no signal, no bars in this underground prison.

It was mid afternoon, hours until residents would arrive home from work. If I was discovered here, I might be arrested. I couldn't take a chance. Besides, I needed to deposit the bank document from Murphy. Although I didn't see a digital clock with red numbers counting down the seconds of my impending doom, it became painfully evident. How I wished I had used the restroom before leaving Murphy's place.

Just then I heard the elevator moving. I could tell that it stopped one floor above me, so I knocked loudly. In my sweetest suburbian-housewife voice I yelled at the elevator doors, "Hello? Hello? I'm locked in the basement."

After a pause I heard the voice of a woman say impatiently, "Hold on. I'm on my way." When the doors parted she eyed me skeptically. "Who're you?"

"I was visiting in the building, and I got lost," I said sheepishly.

"Visiting whom?" she asked, peering at me over the top of rhinestone studded reading glasses.

"Mr. Murphy in 317," I replied realizing that she was the building super.

"Oh, I love him!" was her reply. "I'll show you out."

In a moment I was safe behind the wheel of my Prius. I called Murphy and he laughed when I told him that I had been stuck in the basement all this time.

"You've gotta work on your escape skills!" he chided me. Haven't you learned anything from Jason Bourne, Jack Bauer, or all those Nikita episodes you've been watching?

"Yes," I said with resignation. "I've learned that they only way you can get in or out of a secure building is by having a really good writer put it in the script."