(Click to enlarge)
I have always said that I have a sixth sense about fire alarms. If you listen closely, you can often hear a muted click right before the alarms sound in my building. So when most people are calmly working, I’m muttering, “Damn!” and grabbing my stuff.
Granted, this has earned me a reputation. At my last job, the alarms used to go off constantly. This was not long after September 11, 2001. By the time my coworkers were getting back to something like normal, every fire alarm would trigger my fight-or-flight response. And my response was always: flight.
When the Great Blackout of 2003 hit the East Coast, I was working on the 32nd floor, and I RACED down all 32 flights. This is why I don’t sign up to be the fire warden – I’m so focused on leaving that I don’t see other people. I pretty much zigzagged around all the slow people who weren’t worried by the blackout.
I have always been like this. I believe that this is biological – that my body is wired to respond easily to loud noises and perceived danger. Now, I’m not loud when I think I’m in danger. I stop. I keep track. I become hyper aware and hear every noise and constantly evaluate my current situation.
I remember a trip I took to Florida with my closest friends after college graduation. We were eating dinner at Chili’s when I looked out the window and just…stopped.
“Is that a tornado?” I gasped, as my heart tried to start beating again.
No, no, no, they all reassured me. It was probably a heavy rain storm in the distance. It was just cloudy over there. The glass was a little dirty in that area. Maybe I was developing cataracts.
I monitored that dark swath on the horizon for the rest of the meal, which I couldn’t eat.
Later, we watched the news and saw that it had been a tornado. Which my traveling companions had known, but had decided not to share with me.
However, since my platelet disorder landed me in the hospital last year, with both me and my doctors questioning my mortality, it’s like my panic receptors have been slightly altered. Loud noises still make me jumpy, and I still get concerned when alarms go off in my building, but now I can let it go. When I experienced real danger, I chose fight, not flight. Knowing that changed things.
Last week we received an e-mail that building’s management company would be conducting emergency drills. These drills always begin with the alarms being triggered so we know what they sound like and that it’s time to congregate.
When I arrived at work, my cubicle-mate turned to me and said, “Nancy, don’t panic later, remember that there’s a fire drill this afternoon.”
Five minutes later another coworker arrived. She hung up her jacket, settled in, then emerged from her office and paused. “Nancy,” she said, “don’t forget there’s a fire drill today. Don’t freak out.”
That day, I ate lunch in the cafeteria, one floor below my desk. Their drill started 15 minutes earlier than the one I was scheduled to attend. As it rang out, loud and shrill, I dropped my fork and literally jumped in my seat.
“Did you see me?” I asked my lunch buddy.
“Yes,” she said. “That was HYSTERICAL!”
I took a deep breath, picked up my fork and continued eating.
No comments:
Post a Comment