From flaming dumpsters to actual fires. The fire alarm went off the other day. I was in Marvin’s office giving him an update on the never ending project I’m working on, when an announcement came over the PA system. “Fire, evacuate immediately.” He looked at me and goes, “Grab your stuff, it’s time to go.”
I went down the hall to Bofur’s office, and he was already on the phone, trying to figure out if it was a false alarm.
Thankfully, it was, and someone had just hit the wrong button on the control pad. It added ‘update emergency preparedness plan’ to my schedule, because if it had been a real fire, everyone would have been in deep doo.
That’s also the fastest I’ve seen some people move, coming out of offices to see if it was a real fire, and if it was time to head out.
That’s about the most exciting thing that’s happened this week, other than me fussing at a guy for making fun of my fanny pack.
It isn’t stylish, and I feel like a dweeb wearing it. As any female knows, pockets are a problem, or rather, the lack thereof.
[Insert photo set here of Leslie Knope talking to Ben about pockets. I can’t do that on my phone, so you’ll just have to picture it.]
To make up for the fact that’s my work pants either don’t have pockets at all, or are so small you could fit a quarter and a half a stick of gum in them, I got a fanny pack to compensate.
That way, when I go out on the floor, I have somewhere to put my phone, my watch, some sticky notes and pens, and a couple of tissues. If I’m just running out there real quick, I don’t take it, but otherwise, I do.
Anyway, Dori took it upon himself to comment on it. I’ve had and used it for a couple of months, and he is the first to do so, to my face, anyway. I told him I was rocking it, and then showed him the fake pocket situation I was working with yesterday.
He then agreed that it was a good idea, and that fake pockets are stupid. Mission accomplished.
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