I’m alone in the dungeon, but I make it to the locker room door.
Shit! It’s closed and locked. My key’s down by the pool. This door is always locked. We’re in center city. Stuff happens.
Just as I’m about to wheel around and head back to the pool because now I’m committed to the locker room, the door opens and hits me. A guy runs out and says, “Get out, man!” And he’s off.
I grab the door before it closes. At my locker, I pause and look around for just a second or two. It’s empty, of course, but at no point have I smelled or seen smoke. That’s still true. The fire, if there is one, may prevent me from escaping, but here in this locker room, my life is not in immediate danger.
I can’t escape the vision of myself out on the busy city street in my jammers in ball-scratching cold weather. What would I look like? What would people think?
So I get dressed. Then I grab my bag and take off, not knowing if an escape route even exists anymore. If not, at least I’ll die with my clothes on.
Up the stairs, around the corner, through the big double doors, and out onto the sidewalk. With my clothes on.
Thank God. I mill about with the rest of the crowd and learn that this wasn’t a drill, but neither is the building on fire. A false alarm.
I chose well.
