While checking to see if your clothes might have gotten wedged in the chute you fall in

Jacob kept talking, you weren't listening. Instead, you stuck your head into the chute that led downwards, wondering if maybe the box had become stuck.

"...doing?" he asks, words a little muffled as you bent far over the edge, trying to see farther.

"I'm looking for the box. Maybe it got stuck on the way down. I think I see something," you tell him, leaning further, feeling your hair hang straight down, although you can't help but think the other side feels odd, like it's sticking to the wall or something.

As you teeter on your high heels - which actually made leaning in easier - you feel a cold touch at your waist and jump in startlement before realizing it's just Jacob's cold hands. Given your precarious situation that jump is enough to tilt your forward, and you start sliding into the chute.

"Jacob!" you call out, and feel his strong hands clamp on to your waist. You flail around, hands meeting slimy walls, your hair swinging back and forth along the walls like a mop. Glistening with sweat from a hot day you feel Jacob's fingers slipping, grabbing your skirt, and then your body slithering through the skirt like a snake.

"Aieeh!" you scream, falling.

"Jenny!" Jacob yells, and you catch a brief sight of him before you descend.

A split second passes, but it seems like more before you hit something soft and then something harder that makes a startled sound. The soft object falls below you, but meeting this obstruction has given you a chance to stop your fall. It takes a moment to realize what has happened, but with your face and upper torso mashed up against the wall you figure that someone one the first floor must have been putting out their trash and broke your fall. That still leaves the descent to the basement-level bin, but with your one foot perched on the edge of the open chute you might be able to turn.

It's a slow, wobbly process, and the thickly slimed walls don't help as you try to twist. You feel your nipples digging through the goo, and your hair seems to soak it up as you slowly turn, sliding downward a little at a time. Finally you find yourself with your back against one wall in a near-fetal position, one foot braced against the opening of the chute, the other somehow sticking up above it, your top around your neck like a necklace, and your body trying to tilt to the unsupported side.

"H-help," you tell the man in front of you, whose bloodshot eyes are fixed between your legs.