This is the first rig I've ever been to that has an elevator. I've heard of rigs having elevators in the living quarters, but this elevator went up the derrick! This was extremely useful for us while we were rigging up all our sensors and equipment, because I was taking multiple trips daily to parts of the derrick that were 100-150 feet above the rig floor, and I was working hard enough as it was without having to climb hundreds more steps each day in the fulfillment of my duties.
This elevator, like many mechanical moving parts on a rig, is filthy, utilitarian, and half of its components have ceased to work, but it still goes up and down... most of the time.
I had ridden in this elevator many times before, at points crammed in with two companions and armfuls of wires and tools. My very first time riding by myself, I got in, pressed the button, saw its light flash on, and waited. Nothing happened. The light kept flashing on the button as if to say "Don't worry, we'll get there" but to no avail. I tried pressing it again. I tried pressing other buttons. I tried to open the doors. No luck. I was locked inside and not going anywhere. I tried the phone, which I already knew was dead. Sure enough, it was still dead.
I had had enough foresight to be sure multiple people knew where I was intending to go, so it seemed like only a matter of time before I was found. Could I rescue myself? Perhaps. There was a vent and an active fan, so I was in no forseeable danger, and I wasn't feeling particularly adventurous, so for the meantime I stared out to sea and contemplated life. And I took this picture:
Eventually I thought that I might want to be a bit more proactive about getting myself out of there and back to work. We still had plenty of rigging up left to do, and I wasn't going to get out of my share of it so easily. I struggled with my distaste to call attention to myself and after about three agonizing minutes of self-deliberation, I punched in the "Alarm" button. Guess what happened! Nothing.
Then I noticed something that looked remarkably like a trap door on the ceiling. It had a handle which I attempted to unlatch, but it seemed a bit stuck. I postponed making further attempts at turning it until after I'd enjoyed my vacation a bit longer.
When the sun set, I knew I had to stop shilly-shallying. I resolutely ignored the fact that I really didn't want to climb out of the elevator through the uncomfortably small-looking trapped door with the awkwardly placed escape ladder, screwed up my courage and my strength, and twisted the handle to open. It turned. I pushed up on the door, and it opened a few inches.
Then my bravado failed me and I let the trap door close again. But at that very moment my coworker, having expected a phone call from me ages ago, showed up trying to find out where I had gone. I gesticulated to him through the tiny window with the thick metal grating, and before I knew it he had effortlessly slid the door open to see my dumbfounded face.
The door had been locked. I had fruitlessly attempted to force it open dozens of times, and yet here he is opening it and looking at me as if I'm the biggest slowtop of all history. As it turns out, unlatching the escape hatch cancels all buttons pressed and unlocks the doors. What a joke.
I stewed in the elevator for a total of somewhere around 30-40 minutes before I escaped, and then promptly re-entered it and rode up 90 feet in the derrick to fix a troublesome sensor. It was a small adventure; a small vacation from the drudgery of rigging up. I enjoyed it.
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