Thursday

Every night, after Sunshine's bedtime, I lock-up, turn out the lights, and settle-in for some quiet hours of whatever. Turning the deadbolt last night, I discovered a note had been slipped under the door. This happens: most mail comes during the day; but monthly bills or the new HBO guide will come overnight under the door. Other things that typically arrive overnight are building-wide announcements about upcoming events. This was one of those. Thursday, it said, there will be a fire drill at ten am. It encouraged me to first review the fire safety instructions in our apartment's user manual before then taking part in Thursday's evacuation protocol. I reviewed the safety instructions, as asked: I was cautioned to leave the building in the case of fire. Be sure, it said, not to use the elevator or waste time gathering precious items. I'm frequently nervous about my ability to wake at nine am, as is necessary to be showered and ready to capably walk, in an orderly fashion, down public stairways. As you can tell by the title, today is Thursday. I forced myself awake at nine--after five hours of sleep--took a rapid shower and dressed in time for my emergency evacuation at ten. It's a shame that I only get forewarnings slipped under the door twelve hours in advance of situations I cannot gain anything by avoiding. Were this to be a real fire, I'd have gathered up my precious items last night. But I felt compelled to wait out this test, still halfway asleep, thinking arch thoughts like these. More than half asleep, maybe: ninety more minutes passed without notice (or alarm). Eventually, I checked the slip of note I'd read in darkness last night to discover the drill will actually be next Thursday. [Cavin]