Agonizing, fiery death

All alone at work this morning, in the basement (ahem, sorry, "lower level") of the library, I hear the fire alarm go off. What do I save on my way out the door? First the iBook, then my purse. I pause as I look at my notebook of grad school applications and information, sitting underneath Gender in Archaeology by Sarah Milledge Nelson (quite a read, if you're interested in the subjects of either gender or archaeology). I decide to leave both behind--they are replaceable, the laptop isn't, and the purse I save more out of convenience for myself. What a pain in the ass to get credit cards, checks, driver's license all replaced. Upstairs I learn that it's just a test--since my workplace is eternally under construction, they're just testing the fire alarm.

Let me note--sometimes the emergency exit alarms go off when people use the wrong doors, and everyone in the library wonders, "What is that? Is that the fire alarm? Am I supposed to leave?" Let me tell you--when the goddamned fire alarm goes off, you will bloody well know it because there's no DAMN way to ignore the piercing shriek reminiscent of the screams of the damned that rips through your skull.

As of this writing, the damn thing has gone off at least 6 times, since they have to be damned (7 times) sure it works. Well, it FUCKING WORKS!!!

If the fire alarm goes off today because of an actual fire, well, I'll just burn, thankyouverymuch.

Eight times.