OK, so Angie and I were chatting in my office about “American Idol” great William Hung, and the fire alarm went off.
Well, the alarm is really obnoxious, and it was interrupting our conversation, so Angie reached over and slammed my door closed (“She Bang! She Bang!” *rofl*). We kept on talking about reality TV and other pertinent subjects to our existence, and well, two fire trucks pulled up. At this point, the exclamation point alighted over our heads, and we realized that, hmm — there might be like a fire or something. So we whipped our stuff together and traipsed out into the freezing rain, where every last one of our colleagues were standing at the back of the parking lot.
We were howling with laughter and tried to find out what the scoop was (our building maintenance has been testing the system for the past week — we assumed we could sit tight and stay warm). Oh, but no — this was a REAL drill. One of the gals outside gave us holy hell for being assholes — she said we get fined for each employee who remains in the building. Well who the hell would’a thunk it? Luckily, we were not the last ones in the building — the convention and meetings department stayed cozy, too, till the building maintenance threw them out.
What the hell — it became an impromptu smoke break. Funny as shit, though — I was just telling Angie how stupid this place is because there are no evacuation policies. Every other place where I worked, certain people were designated as the “fire marshalls” for their area (and it was always me for my hallways). You know, people to take account of who’s missing and whether or not they had even shown up at work that day. We were having a good laugh over how no one would care or even know if we perished in a fire, and lo and behold, my prophecy fulfilled itself. You’d think Pussy Demure!