Bookends, while they may be a great gift and have the potential to be eerily poetic, didn't make for much fun this weekend. I wrote about the fire drill that took place at my office on Friday that made me feel like a child, but had I known that my weekend would have ended with an actual fire, I don't think I would have been so nonchalant about it.
Sunday night, while I'm watching The Good Wife, I hear this commotion in the hallway. If it had been closer to Christmas, I might have thought it to be a clatter, but as it was freshly October, I went with drunken brawl. Then my door is being banged on and I'm able to make out the word "fuego." Now, my relationship with the Spanish language has been testy at best, but I know what that word means. Fire. Cut to me and the rest of my building being allowed down the stairs in shifts as the firemen raced up them to the sixth floor where there was a fire.
A big one. When I got outside, I could see the flames coming out of the windows.
So I spent the better part of the evening sitting outside, in the cold (which usually you know I love the fall weather but when it's cold and you're alone and your building is on fire and more firetrucks just keep showing up, then it's not a great feeling).
So the weekend was bookended with having to evacuate the building I was in. One was a drill, one cost someone their apartment (and water damaged every apartment under that one). I don't know what caused it and the only thing I remember is this very pretty woman firefighter standing at the entrance of the building as we were leaving and she said to someone next to her "How is the super not here?" That brought me momentary joy knowing that he, the bane of my existence, will hear from them about it.
But the moment ended quickly.
So that's what happened and while bookends are a great gift, it wasn't how I saw my weekend unfolding. Sometimes that happens I guess.