Editor’s Note: At Crackko, we live for the wild, the unexpected, and the downright ridiculous. Today, we bring you a tale from Michael, a 24-year-old tech bro who found himself in a Lagos elevator. What happened next? Let’s just say, plot twists were invented for stories like this.
Editor: Michael, let’s hear it. Start from the beginning.
Michael: Okay, so it’s Saturday evening, and I’m feeling myself. Fresh trim, crispy white shirt, ready to dazzle at my friend’s housewarming party. The only problem? Lagos traffic. By the time I show up, I look less “cool tech guy” and more “danfo survivor.”
The elevator doors were my first win of the day—pristine, shiny, and actually working. I step in, hit the button, and think, finally, smooth sailing. But just as the doors are closing, this guy jumps in last-minute, carrying what looks like a mini-market in Shoprite bags. I’m judging his life choices when the elevator jerks violently and everything goes dark.
Editor: Classic Lagos. What was your first thought?
Michael: God, not like this. I didn’t even get to eat small chops yet.
The guy with the bags? He wasn’t fazed. He calmly puts his bags down and presses the emergency button like a man who’s been through this nonsense before. Meanwhile, I’m clutching my phone, praying for network bars like my life depends on it.
Nothing. Just silence, heat, and the faint scent of suya spice from his bags.
Editor: How long did it take for panic to set in?
Michael: About five minutes. I started doing quick math in my head: How much oxygen do two people need? Can elevators run out of air? Why didn’t I drink water before leaving home?
Then my guy looks at me and says, “O boy, na here we go sleep?” Like that’s supposed to be comforting.
Editor: Did you guys talk, or was it awkward?
Michael: At first, we were both quiet. Then, out of nowhere, he asks me if I think Arsenal will win the league this season. Arsenal. In a life-and-death situation.
Turns out, he’s one of those die-hard football fans who thinks talking about their team can cure anything—even potential suffocation. I played along to distract myself from the fact that I was sweating like akara on a hot pan.
Editor: Did anything weird happen while you were stuck?
Michael: Weird? Try borderline insane.
After about 30 minutes, hunger started dealing with me. Like, stomach-rumbling, head-spinning hunger. That’s when this guy decides it’s time for a picnic. He pulls out a loaf of bread and a bottle of Fanta like we’re at Bar Beach.
Now, I’m too proud to ask for food, but my stomach had other plans. It growled so loud the guy just burst out laughing and said, “Oya, no vex. Take small.”
So there we were, two strangers in a Lagos elevator, breaking bread—literally.
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For more wild, unforgettable stories, check out The ‘Oops!’ Chronicles on Crackko.
Editor: So, when did the twist happen?
Michael: Oh, you think that was the twist? No, no. Stay with me.
An hour in, the maintenance guy finally shows up to rescue us. The doors open, and just as I’m about to step out, the guy with the bags shouts, “Wait! My chicken!”
I turn around, confused. He starts frantically searching his bags and then looks up, horrified, like he’s just lost his firstborn. I’m like, “Oga, abeg, what’s happening?”
He points to the elevator floor—one of his rotisserie chickens had rolled out of the bag during the blackout and was now lying face-down in the corner.
Editor: No way.
Michael: I swear. He picks it up, dusts it off, and says, “Five-second rule.”
By this point, I’m crying from laughter. The maintenance guy? He just shakes his head and mutters, “Lagos people.”
But here’s where it gets crazy. As we step out of the elevator, I notice he’s heading to the same floor as me. Turns out, he’s my friend’s new neighbor. And before I could fully process that, he casually says, “You look like you could use a roommate.”
Editor: Wait, what? Did you say yes?
Michael: Look, Lagos rent is choking everybody. Plus, I figured if we could survive an hour in a broken elevator together, we could survive anything.
So yeah, two weeks later, I moved in. Now, he’s my roommate. And get this—he makes the best grilled chicken I’ve ever had. I’m talking better than my mum’s.
Editor: Any final thoughts for our readers?
Michael: Just this—never judge a stranger by their Shoprite bags, always carry snacks, and remember: Lagos elevators are not for the faint-hearted.
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