Last night I was rudely woken up by the fire alarm in my building at the wonderful hour of 1 a.m., right after I'd gone to bed and managed to fall asleep.
It was a wonderful experience, walking down the stairs and out into the cold to wait with other equally-grumpy neighbors for the fire department to come pour water on some guy's burnt popcorn. It was so nice that, as we all shuffled back into the building, I remarked that we should do it again soon.
Done and done.
At 5 a.m., the fire alarm blared its wake-up call. Again.
Twice in one night!
Gar.
Screw you, people who try to cook in the middle of the night.
Here's a warning. Next time you wander home at 3 a.m., and then decide to make some pizza bagels, and you leave them in the oven and they go up in smoke and we have to leave the building, don't think I'm going to be evacuated quietly with the rest of the people.
If I have to get out of bed to leave the building, I'm done taking the extra second to put some pants on.
That's right. If evacuated, I'm coming out in the altogether.
Think of it as a warning. Do you really need to burn your food that badly? If you think so, then risk seeing what no one should see outside of the darkness of my own room.
...
Um, someone tell Mrs. Pedroia to stop trying to set that roll of paper towels on fire.
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