One of the bloggers I read each day posed the age-old question, what would you grab (assuming all people and pets were safe) if your home was on fire? After pondering this question for about 10 seriously thoughtful seconds, here was my reply:
The sensitive side of me would want to grab my photo albums, but there are far too many to drag down 13 flights, so I might just use Kodak Gallery for that. I'd have to lunge for the 8x10 black and white of my mom the day she and my dad got engaged in 1972. She looks amazing, and I don't have an electronic copy. Which reminds me to add that to my eternal to-do list.
The practical side of me would grab my Passport and purse, although they always tell you to grab a utility bill to prove residence. Or the deed to your home. But who's going to find that stuff fast enough? A fireproof box would solve that, and my friend Laura has been preaching 'bout those for quite some time. Another list item.
The materialistic side of me would grab my favorite brown fuzzy coat and the last pair of jeans I truly love. Cause a girl can't go naked to buy new clothes, now can she?
The ridiculous side of me would stand in the middle of the room, freeze, panic, take three steps towards the bedroom, take five steps towards the kitchen, panic, freeze, and start to cry. While leaving without anything in hand.
And, yes, I live on the 13th floor. So, either I'm really lucky and will never need this list, or I'd better get more prepared.
*Side note: when the horrid-sounding fire alarms went off in my building last March, I did none of the above. I calmly put on a sweatshirt, grabbed tennis shoes, and walked down the 13 flights of stairs (thinking mostly of the elderly women who live on my floor and wondering what to do about them), only to greet 100+ of my neighbors on the curb.
Living in a 2-tower condo building on Lake Shore Drive with 700 units makes for quite a sidewalk spectacle at one in the morning, believe you me. Especially when the 17th fire/rescue/police vehicle showed up with lights ablazin'. I'm quite certain that they, too, are suckers for a little late night action.
My favorite part of the whole thing (and I can say this because despite the flames shooting out from the south tower condo windows, no one was seriously hurt) was watching the straggling young people come out in makeshift outfits and "bed hair." The varying levels of shame on their faces indicated to me who was with a spouse, who was with a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner and who was with a, well, one-nighter. I couldn't help myself.
Because I was standing there alone.
Now, I'll turn the tables on you, as she did to her readers. What would you reach for?
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