BitterSweetLife

Last night, shortly after midnight, the fire alarm went off in our building. For a few seconds, I thought my alarm clock was channeling the voice of God, which was exciting, because I've always wanted God to speak audibly to me. "...PLEASE VACATE THE BUILDING WHILE THE ALERT IS BEING VERIFIED..." Yes, Lord. I will go wherever you send--hey, wait.

I was disappointed when I noticed the flashing strobe light in our living room and realized that God would not, anyway, be speaking in the voice of a patient, middle-aged woman. Lindsay and I went to look out the window for fire trucks while the lady calmly continued to talk to us at rock concert decibel levels.

After a little while, we even shattered fire alarm protocol by opening our apartment door and looking down the hallway. (Making sure, of course, that the door was not hot to the touch.) All told, there were no flames, no smoke, and no fire trucks. Just one bored officer in a suburban who had probably been called out to our building a few times before. Lindsay and I sat on the bed and waited for the alarm to die so we could go back to what we had been doing--you know, sleeping.

Why so laid back? Because I was very tired and also because our building is notorious for very, very funny pranksters who can't resist a good joke in the a.m. hours. But "laid back" is a relative scale--Aidan slept through the whole thing. I'm not sure my body can even get that relaxed anymore. After about fifteen minutes, the kind, loud-rock lady stopped ordering us to leave our building. For about 30 seconds. Then, after a brief encore, she made her exit for good.

The strobe light continued flashing for another ten minutes or so, but you can sleep through a strobe light if you are very determined.

So, to recap: No smoke, no fire, and no audible voice of God. I fell asleep feeling like the incident hadn't much lived up to its potential on any count.