December 26, 2011: No bravado
Category: Stuff, other
Posted by: David M Patt
I was working on a desktop computer in an 11th floor association office early one evening, when the roar of a vacuum cleaner in the next room stopped and a member of the cleaning crew calmly told me, "dares fire on five." Then she slowly walked away.
It was the same voice that had once asked, "do you want your desk clean?" I didn't think much more about it.
But she didn't return. I peeked into the adjoining room and saw the vacuum standing motionless at the edge of the reception area. The cleaning staff was gone.
I started to wonder what she meant by, "dares fire on five." Was there a fire on the fifth floor? She hadn't seemed worried. Should I have been worried?
I kept clicking and typing for awhile, but then wondered what would happen if there really was a fire and I couldn't get out.
So I collected my belongings, left the computer on, and started down the stairwell. I saw a couple of people one flight above me, casually descending the stairs while conversing in normal tones. They displayed no sense of urgency.
As I approached the fifth floor, though, I heard loud commands, watched yellow-jacketed firefighters climb up to the landing and lumber into and out of the hallway, observed hoses running along the floor past propped-open exit doors, and smelled an unfamiliar smoke, not what I remembered wafting from a barbeque grill or a blown out match.
I stepped carefully over the hoses, avoided wet spots on the stairwell, gripped the banister, walked carefully down to the lobby, and quickly strode out of the building.
I only had to wait across the street for a short time before learning the fire had been small and was contained. Nobody had been hurt. But I wasn't allowed back into the building. Fire crews had to inspect other floors for possible damage.
So I couldn't finish my work that night. I couldn't even turn off the computer. I began to think that maybe I should have stayed in the office.
But then I realized that I was safe and I recognized the potential danger of my earlier situation. Common sense had triumphed over bravado.
It was the same voice that had once asked, "do you want your desk clean?" I didn't think much more about it.
But she didn't return. I peeked into the adjoining room and saw the vacuum standing motionless at the edge of the reception area. The cleaning staff was gone.
I started to wonder what she meant by, "dares fire on five." Was there a fire on the fifth floor? She hadn't seemed worried. Should I have been worried?
I kept clicking and typing for awhile, but then wondered what would happen if there really was a fire and I couldn't get out.
So I collected my belongings, left the computer on, and started down the stairwell. I saw a couple of people one flight above me, casually descending the stairs while conversing in normal tones. They displayed no sense of urgency.
As I approached the fifth floor, though, I heard loud commands, watched yellow-jacketed firefighters climb up to the landing and lumber into and out of the hallway, observed hoses running along the floor past propped-open exit doors, and smelled an unfamiliar smoke, not what I remembered wafting from a barbeque grill or a blown out match.
I stepped carefully over the hoses, avoided wet spots on the stairwell, gripped the banister, walked carefully down to the lobby, and quickly strode out of the building.
I only had to wait across the street for a short time before learning the fire had been small and was contained. Nobody had been hurt. But I wasn't allowed back into the building. Fire crews had to inspect other floors for possible damage.
So I couldn't finish my work that night. I couldn't even turn off the computer. I began to think that maybe I should have stayed in the office.
But then I realized that I was safe and I recognized the potential danger of my earlier situation. Common sense had triumphed over bravado.
