Fire Drill Thrill

It is Thursday. This has been a gray, rainy, boring week. I have sat at my desk with my little desk lamp, falling asleep into endless pages of questions like "O my love is like a red, red rose is an example of what literary device?," with only the occasional quip from my sarcastic co-workers, a siren wailing in the street, or an argument over whether nouns preceding gerunds need to be made possessive to resurrect me from hideous and unrelenting boredom. 4:30 should be a joyful acclamation of freedom, but then I have the ungodly traffic of 21st Avenue to contend with.

The most exciting thing happened today, though: we had a fire drill, which required our entire floor to empty out into the rainy cold street, huddling under umbrellas, a dentist's office awning, or just letting the rain soak through. It was delightful. Seriously, my department is so boring that this was the highlight of our month. I actually felt a little giddy.

I thought back to a few months ago, when I was a preschool teacher herding my classroom of 3 year olds outside for our first fire drill. Of course, one kid was barefoot, another was wearing rubber boots from the dramatic play center, and the classroom princess slipped and sullied her bright yellow dress. We made it to our safe place, though, and they all looked up at me with their big, worried eyes. I was very grateful that the fire wasn't real.

Today I might not have minded. The warmth might melt the ice off my windshield.

Winter in Nashville as a standardized test editor is killing my soul.