The shrieking fire alarm made me jump out of my skin. RRRRUUUNNNN, RRRRUUUNNNNN, RRRRRUUUUUNNNN, it screeched urgently. Around me, people stared intently at their computers, chewed gum, chatted, laughed – they were oblivious to the fire alarm. I’ve always been intrigued by this: if they were caught in an unexpected downpour, the same people who now sat through the fire alarm chewing gum, would run out of the rain like they were heading for a bomb shelter. We treat a silly shower like an air raid siren and a fire alarm like a coffee break bell! We’d rather be burnt toast than be wet!! Had anyone ever heard of "priorities"!?! Did they expect the fire to walk up to their workstations, tap them on their shoulders and say "Hello! Shall we sizzle on the dance floor?"!?!?!? Had everybody gone MAD!?!?!?! (Did anyone notice the gradual upward rise in punctuations??????!!!!!?????)
As I worked myself up into a righteous fury, a message flashed across our screens: “Falls alarms, do not picnic.”
Then, a few seconds later: “FALSE ALARM, do not picnic.”
Well, well….and then: “Sorry, PANIC.”
“Panic, people, panic!” I yelled and bolted like a bat out of hell screaming “Fire!! Fire!! Run!! Run!!”
It was only after I had clattered down a full flight of stairs at supersonic speed that I realized
a) No one else had picnicked…or panicked…or whatever.
b) There was no fire alarm blaring.
c) My left hand was attached to someone’s right.
I turned and met a pair of icy eyes. “Whoa!” I yelped and staggered backwards, “Who are you?”
“My sentiments exactly,” the owner of the hand replied frostily. “Thank you for saving my life. Now, if you don’t mind….” she yanked her hand out of mine and turned on her heel and stomped out.
“You’re welcome,” I croaked.
I tried to slither back in unnoticed--I crouched and duck-walked but someone spotted me and called, “Welcome back!!” and I got a standing ovation. Where is that damn earthquake when I need it...!
MORAL OF STORY: 30 minutes a day 4 times a week, practise duck-walking.
