Fire Alarm

It is just after six in the morning, on a Sunday morning, no less. A fire alarm has just gone off in the building, probably twenty minutes prior. My mind is somewhat shot and disoriented, but for you, fearless reader, my need to go back to bed has been trumped by my desire to commemorate this occasion.

I was sleeping, as is my habit at times like these. The building's "fire alert annunciator" blasted three peals, followed by a long whoop. Then, this helpful message from a calm female voice (and my own thoughts at the time in parentheses):

"May I have your attention? (We don't have a choice, get on with it.) A fire has been reported in the building. (My ass, I don't smell anything.) Please proceed to the nearest exit. (There better be a fire, at this rate.)"

I sat up to look at the clock, which probably said ten before six. Note that I have a clock with a gigantic display so I do not need my glasses, but even so, it is still kind of blurry. After a few more moments of debate, and wanting to wring the neck of whomever flipped the switch, I get out of bed.

Darkness reigns in my apartment, as I am sure it must in most of the apartments. I cast about trying to remember where my wallet and keys are, before noting I probably need pants to go outside. Since I am next to the hamper, my cigar-smelling jeans are the closest. On they go, along with a cigar-smelling long sleeved shirt.

I spare a moment to urinate, and also hope I left my glasses in the bathroom. It is always a crapshoot as to where my glasses are these days. I have left them near the kitchen sink, on top of the television, near my laptop, near my work laptop, in the bathtub, in the soap dish, on the toilet, on my nightstand, on the floor in the middle of the living room, in a book, on the dining room table, underneath a pillow. Today, they were on the keyboard, but right next to wallet and keys.

I think that I should probably also grab my phone, but I cannot figure out where it is. Not tethered to the charger, not with wallet and keys. Ah, well, let it burn. At this point, perhaps I should also have grabbed anything else that was irreplaceable. For better or worse, there is really nothing in my apartment that I could not live without. It would suck, but is not a dealbreaker of any sort.

In the stairwell, I feel myself listing to the right. I almost fall into the wall at each flight of stairs. I am exhausted and kind of desperate not to fall down and cause an awful comedy sequence where everyone also falls down the stairs.

Outside, I go to my car and toy with going to the International House of Pancakes. Strangely, the mere thought of going to the International House of Pancakes makes my stomach turn, and I decide to wait and watch the building burn.

There are several people walking their pets, a good a time as any to do so. One young couple has two red and white pet carriers, and no children. At what point do they become the crazy cat couple without kids?

One woman is wrapped in a giant crocheted blanket. (as I typed that, I typed "crotcheted". What the hell kind of blanket is that, a merkin? Could you even wear one of those out in public? Well, you could, but I guess I meant by itself.)

There is a fire truck outside, and another. The firemen stumble out of the truck as if this were any other day on the job, which it probably is. There are no visible flames licking at the building, no smoke coming from anywhere.

A lot of people have gone directly to their cars. Maybe they are going to International House of Pancakes. I wish them well in their endeavor.

A slight drizzle of rain starts soaking us. I am very thankful I put on clothes before coming outside.

People make awkward small talk, made worse by the fact that no one should be woken up on a Sunday morning by alarm klaxons. I stand in the grass and cross my arms, unwilling to say anything to anyone, somewhat afraid that I will flip out on people if they try to talk to me.

The firemen are in their full firefighting regalia. I wonder what their bonus is to fire fighting by wearing the thick cloth. They come out one by one. That is our sign that we can come in.

I get in line. We shuffle back inside. Coherence missed everyone here, at least this early in the morning.