Today we went to visit at a St Louis hospital, and the trip to the 4th floor was uneventful. After a 9 second visit little Charlie was done (as was I) so I generously offered to take him for a walk. We returned to the elevator, and while we were waiting he noticed a small sign that showed flames.
"What's that, Papaw?" he asked. I replied that it meant not to use the elevator if there is a fire.
I don't know how he misheard me, but when the elevator arrived he would not go in. " I don't want to catch on fire!" is all he would say. I explained again to no avail. I begged. I threatened, I even tried to carry him into the elevator, which resulted in my shins becoming bruised. A doctor tried to get him in, and not even a pretty little blond nurse could persuade him to get in the elevator.
I gave up and purchased a soda out of the nearby machine. Charlies' eyes lit up at the prospect of a drink. Aha!
I baited him just like the carrot and donkey cartoon, right into the elevator.
After about 40 seconds of screaming (his) he decided the elevator was OK and we had no further problems, other than the security guard.
Thank God I didn't have to take the stairs!
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