Working late one Friday evening, I left my office in the McGraw-Hill building in New York's Rockefeller Center and smoked a cigarette. Then I walked back into the building, past the guy polishing the marble floor - the same guy I'd seen for 15 years - and went into the elevator. I pushed the number "43".

On the way up, I felt a jolt; the lights dimmed for a second. After a while, I realised the elevator had stopped moving, so I rang the emergency bell. I was irritated because I was on deadline. I was a production manager for Business Week and had to get the magazine out. I waited for someone to answer, but nobody did. So, I pushed the button again. I thought about yelling but I was embarrassed. I didn't want to make a fuss, so I just left the bell ringing and waited.