Maybe I mentioned before that my job closely resembles that of an office manager (I say “closely resembles” because what it more accurately resembles is a vaguely employed slacker who spends most of her days sneaking Twilight under her desk and helping the company hemorrhage it’s caffeine supply while occasionally and begrudgingly ordering paper clips). In early October, on a day when every C-level employee was in a meeting somewhere on the other side of our massive office complex, the lights suddenly went out. In the silence following a string of my belligerent curses, I heard the other lemmings shift about. I sat motionless at my desk, squinting in the dull glow of the emergency lights and the windows onto the building’s atrium, and hoping that the problem would resolve itself if I just ignored it long enough. It did not.
I rummaged around in the storage closet for flashlights but came up empty handed. By then, there were wide eyed cubicle monkeys peering around the corner looking for guidance. It occurred to me that somehow I was supposed to be holding down the fort while the big dogs were away. My one day of active duty for the month and calamity strikes. Well. Shit.
I addressed my flock, “I’m going to… uhh… go check with building management.” Yes! That is exactly what I’m going to go do! Eureka! And I promptly scuttled to the front door of our suite. Downstairs in the atrium, madness was moderately erupting. The maintenance guys with whom I’m friendly (because seriously, have you never seen Fight Club? Be nice to those guys. Plus, if you make friends with them, they visit you faster when you call them crying about leaky faucets) were unusually short with me. One of them shouted over his shoulder, “Sorry, K. We’ve got people stuck in elevators all over the building” as he ran off with what appeared to be the Jaws-of-Life. I sympathized. Our building is only three stories tall. I frequently take the elevator to my office on the second floor out of sheer slothfulness. I would be absolutely ripshit with myself, not to mention terrified, if I were one of those people.
Building management was likewise unhelpful in regards to the cause of the problem. They informed me that the power was out, but oddly enough, I was already wise to that fact. Later I learned that they had a backup generator for their suite and spent the next two hours emailing their tenants to say “the power is out.” I didn’t know that at the time because my computer runs on electricity you fucking morons.
I wandered back to my office to inform the others of the lack of updates. Instead of standing around, twiddling my thumbs, and fighting out the socializing advances of my coworkers, I decided to further make myself useful by checking on the C-level meeting in case they had no windows where they were and were currently sitting in total darkness. I knew generally where the conference room was but getting there was trickier. To access it, I need to head away from the sunny sky-light filled atrium and wander through a maze of windowless halls without a flashlight.
I turned the first corner and came face to face with a door that had never been there before. I learned later that the fire doors run on electricity and they had all automatically slammed shut when the power went down. Though it was disorienting, it wouldn’t have been a huge deal if someone had thought to put those red emergency lights in each segment created but closed doors. Instead, two segments down the hall I opened a fire door and was confronted with pitch black. I couldn’t see the tip of my nose. But I’m a clever girl, so I ran back to my desk and grabbed my cell to use a makeshift flashlight. When I got back to that door and started jabbing buttons on my phone, I could just barely see to the end of my outstretched arm, which wasn’t a bad thing because I was fairly sure this is what it looked like around me.
The red glow of the emergency light from the last segment was abruptly lost as the fire door slammed shut behind me. Within two steps, I could no longer see the door I’d just passed through. That was when it hit me. I’m that girl in a horror movie. I’m the blonde chick who goes to investigate the cause of the blackout armed with nothing but a half-charged Motorola. This is exactly why I need to keep a battle axe at my desk.
Without at least a machete for protection, I knew from countless B-movies that I had between thirty seconds and four minutes to live, depending on how cruel this particular director was. My left hand curled into a fist and my heart began racing. A door cautiously swung open to my right where I wasn’t expecting it and I nearly wet myself. An elderly woman popped out to ask if the bathrooms had lights. Looks like she hadn’t gotten the memo. Probably because it was emailed to her. Too bad, because those halls weren’t safe for little old ladies. I have a heavily ingrained self defense mechanism and almost beat her to death with my shoe before I realized that she was not a) the undead b) a serial killer c) a Velociraptor.
Several minutes later I found the conference room. I burst in looking more shaken, frazzled and wild eyed than usual to find the C-levels cheerfully sitting in a room with a wall of windows. I smiled weakly, explained briefly, and returned to the hallway for the return trip. My heart rate tripled as the phone battery blinked down to one pathetic bar.
I raced down the hallways at a faster pace than before, colliding with several doors and physically assaulting an unfortunately placed potted palm tree. Wait? A palm tree? There was no palm tree on my way here. I looked at the room number next to my victim. The numbers should have been ascending, not descending. In my panic, I’d lost my way.
I back tracked, slower this time, until I picked up the scent of rum and jeans that haven’t been washed in awhile… and also the turn that I had missed. I was back to the correct path. Around the corner was a sad looking woman with an illuminated iPhone who was looking for the bathroom. I took comfort in the developing pattern that proves I am clearly not the only one with an inherent instinct to soil myself when trouble strikes. I pointed her about ten feet behind me and secretly judged the iPhone for lacking a Fucking Awesome Survival Skills app. My confidence rose as I realized it had been about fifteen minutes from my original departure. Even the most sadistic director wouldn’t drag out the dumb girl’s death for fifteen minutes. People would get bored. Except for maybe Saw but I’ve never seen that movie so I don’t count it as technically existing. I apply this same logic to Australia.
Could it be that I was the hero of this story and not just a disposable supporting actress? The protagonist always has a brush with death that appears inescapable but ends up surviving on nothing but their own cleverness, charm, and resourceful use of palm fronds that have been sharpened into a shiv. I started to recognize the offices I passed and realized I was close to my suite. Oh thank God, the denouement.
I opened the door leading out of the last pitch black segment and my smugness evaporated. At the far end, there was a dark figure lurking in edges of the red emergency light. Not moving. Just standing there. My fist tightened around the shiv as I prepared for the final battle. I squinted to ensure I was not about to attack another houseplant when the figure turned its head to look at me as I approached.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked me and my breathing returned to normal as I recognized the voice of the guy who sat at the office complex’s front desk, “There’s a black out. Didn’t you get my email?”
