I’d barely gotten to sleep last night when I was woken by a disembodied dalek’s voice shrieking “EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!”
A check of my iPhone told me it was almost 2.30am and I realised that the voice I was hearing was coming from speakers I didn’t even know were in the ceiling in my room, and was in fact saying, “EVACUATE. EVACUATE.”
Argh! This is the fifth week in my new apartment and I felt like I was finally getting a handle on things.
I’ve worked out how to manoeuver my car into my teensy parking spot in the basement. I’m now remembering I need to take my key whenever I shut my door (as I need it for the elevator, stairwell, front security door etc) and I’m finally getting used to the rubbish chute on my floor (which is just the best invention EVER I have to say!).
But, although I’d seen the notice about setting off fire alarms (we can quickly push a button to avoid a call-out fee), I hadn’t bothered reading the evacuation instructions. Obviously they aren’t / weren’t rocket science (well, I’m assuming this as I still haven’t read them), but I knew to use the stairs and well… exit the building.
My bigger dilemma was what to wear. Given the time I was attractively attired in a baggy Nike t-shirt (with some of last night’s peppercorn sauce drizzled down it for added impact!) and short cotton cycle pants. Thankfully I had knickers on, but no bra. Of course. (I was in bed for god’s sake!)
I grabbed my phone off the charger. And pondered on what else I needed.
‘Should I throw a looser t-shirt over the other t-shirt, to make the bralessness less obvious?’ I wondered. I had visions of us huddled outside of the building with firemen and newspaper photographers (or social media fanatics) witnessing my braless state. I eventually (ie. seconds later!) decided it would be inappropriate of me to pause to don a bra or find an additional t-shirt, but I DID grab a hairband as my hair looks like a non-curly afro when I get out of bed.
The next decision – obviously – was what shoes to put on my feet. But, it appeared I’d inadvertently left my thongs next to the door for such an emergency so, keys and phone in hand I was ready to rush (bounce!) down the stairs.
Naturally it was a false alarm. Only four of us appeared and I’m pretty sure they were happy that I shared with them my braless state (as I kept my arms clutched across my bosom) and were relieved I’d done something about my hair.
Hyped up from the braless excitement I then couldn’t go back to sleep so have been blog reading since 4am, only taking a break for a quick walk as the sun rose.
I’ve had fire alarms and drills at work, but this is the first time I’ve had one at home (when I can’t just poke the alarm to turn it off when the toast burns!). I’m thinking I might need a bit of a plan for next time as I’m sure this will happen again. Perhaps a summer robe on the back of the door?!
Have you been caught in an evacuation?
Would you have donned a bra? (Boys, feel free to be honest here. We’re among friends.)