Packing for the Afterlife, One Suitcase at a Time
Nothing like a 1 a.m. fire alarm to test your reflexes and your dignity.
The alarm blares, and I’m suddenly in a high-stakes game of “What Do I Grab?” I manage a shirt, shorts, slip on my untied sneakers, and grab my phone. That’s it. No toothbrush, no regrets. I’m not auditioning for Survivor: Hotel Edition, I just want to not die in my sleep.
I head outside expecting chaos, but... nothing. Not a soul from the front desk. Had this been a real fire, most of us would've been toast, or at least slightly overdone.
People trickled ou of their rooms like it was a brunch reservation, not a potential death trap. Meanwhile, most people aren't evacuating. Oh no, they’re asking questions.
“Is this real?”
“Should we go out?”
“Do you smell smoke?”
It’s a fire alarm, not a suggestion! Get out first, hold the Q&A session later!
One family came out with all their luggage. Like… really? They saw flames and thought, “We should pack.” They looked like they’re checking out at 1 a.m. on purpose. Look, I respect the hustle, but maybe don't stop to organize your socks if the building is allegedly on fire.
Meanwhile, I’m mentally cataloging everything I left behind. My smartwatch, new $2800 hearing aid, some nice Lacoste shirts, etc . My snacks. My dignity.
The fire department shows up fast (shout out to them), but one family doesn’t even bother to come out until after the firefighters arrive. VIP late checkout energy.
There was a lady screaming something unintelligible outside, but it seemed more like performance art than panic. The firemen didn’t find anything, and just when we all settle back in, boom. The alarm again. I assume it’s the reset, or maybe the fire system is just as confused as the rest of us.
Anyway, I’m alive, and I think my granola bars are safe.
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