Yesterday, my office BURST INTO FLAMES.
I love this time of year.
I promise I’m ’bout to tie those thoughts together.
But, really. I love this time of year. Spring has always been my favorite, but here in the South, it’s glorious. Right now, the leaves are new, so they’re still pastel green. And then you have other trees that are lavender, some that are pink, and then there are the beautiful white dogwoods.
There are the daffodils and the tulips, the hyacinth and the irises. Everywhere you look, it’s a pastel impressionist painting right now, sans the cut-off ear.
And if that weren’t enough, we get a lot of thunderstorms in the spring. The 14 years I was living in Seattle and Los Angeles, the rain was namby-pamby. Now here the rain is bold and loud and shakes the house. Oooooo, I love a good thunderstorm.
Yesterday afternoon, the Guy Who Sits Next to Me, Fewks, announced that a bad storm was coming. Men always seem attuned to the weather. Weather and sports are men’s reality TV.
“Ooooo!” all 900 people in my completely open, please-read-all-my-thoughts here-are-my-exposed-innards floor plan said.
Our group Oooooo was interrupted by the shrill of the fire alarm, an alarm we’ve all heard a hundred times during drills.
“Is that the fire alarm?” someone asked, and what I like about us is we all just sat still, assuming it was fake. Then from the recesses of my mind, where there are monkey bars and large red rubber balls, I recalled some statistic that the reason people die is they assume alarms are fake.
“EVERYBODY PANIC!” I screeched, and no one at work likes me. Nevertheless, I lead a group out the door, while
the alarm continued to screech at us like a fishwife, or at least a fish hookup.
The thing is, it was raining outside, and I’m not sure if I mentioned that part. We were in an actual, you know, thunderstorm, so this inferno evacuation was most inconvenient.
“Does anyone want to go sit in my car?” I asked, and The Other Copy Editors said yes. I get into work earlier than a lot of people, so I usually get a good spot right by the door. Once I saw Griff actually race to get the last good spot and I ended up having to get trail mix and a sherpa to make it from my parking spot to work. I had to sleep in a base camp the first night.
As we sat in my car, we heard sirens. “Oooo, how exciting!” I said, because up till that time I assumed it was a false alarm. Like the time I went in with my labor pains. Remember that?
Naturally, the towering flames and people leaping out of the building was a perfect time to take a selfie. “Everyone look alarmed,” I said.
I want you to hang on to your fire hat, but I am the most dramatic of the copy editors.
Copy Editor Red Shirt, over there, brought her laptop with her, to finish her task. “Well, it’s due by the end of the day,” she said, licking flames reflected in her eyes.
Once the fire truck pulled in, I dared everyone in the car to leap out and scream, “MY BABY’S IN THERE,” but no one would. I did, however, check to see if any of the firemen were cute (answer: of course), but it turns out?
False alarm. The lightning must have convinced the fire alarm to go off. As a heat expert, because I’m so hot, that is my theory. My theory of relatively nothing.
So, in the end, we lived, and I know that that’s boring, but at least Copy Editor Red Shirt met her deadline.