I seem to have been cursed lately with a spate of fire alarms: four in a fortnight. The first three were at a hotel, amidst renovation work.
The fourth came at a client’s office – a planned rehearsal, utterly chaotic. New instructions have subsequently been displayed around the building, including the following for guests:
Go to the visitors’ paddle at the muster location.
Me? I’m heading for the nearest coffee shop if the bells start ringing again. But I shall enjoy the thought of the cute temp a few desks away returning, rubbing her bottom with tears in her eyes, her story that “It wasn’t me who started it” clearly not having held sway with the evacuation wardens…