The fire got out of control very quickly, and so I was fucked. I grabbed a cold cup of coffee off the desk next to me and poured it over the flames hoping it would do something but knowing it would do nothing. I looked around and found a very large indoor plant – more like a tree – sitting on the floor nearby. I figured the dirt, or soil, would put out the flames which by then were shooting at almost a foot out of the top of the garbage bin. It caught fire pretty quickly, and now there was a bunch of smoke too.
In movies you see guys putting out trash can fires by stomping them out. I tried this next but it didn’t work and soon my pants were slightly on fire. Finally I heard frantic footsteps coming down the hall and figuring whoever it was couldn’t possibly do a worse job than I had at putting out the fire I got the hell out of there.
I was only trying to cause a diversion, but I figure my problem was starting one in a wicker trash can. Oh well, it sort of worked.
There was nobody in the hall so I headed to the elevators, pressed ‘up’ and waited; an impatient, suspicious, smouldering and sweaty mess. It was then that I finally noticed the fire alarm that had been going off for what I assume was at least a couple of minutes. My pulse quickened and I hammered ‘up’ again, then ‘down’ a bunch of times because by this time I was desperate to get the hell away from the scene of the crime. The smell of burnt polyester reminded me that my pants had been singed, so I pulled them off and stuffed them into the trash can. It was a lucky coincidence that I had worn a pair of shorts over my boxers that night.
Still, nobody came but neither did the elevator. I knew that by standing in the hallway just a few meters from a fire in a sport jacket and shorts in November in Toronto, I was pushing my luck. Then it hit me that during a fire alarm elevators are shut down for safety reasons and so I bolted toward the stairs, any attempts at acting cool now abandoned.
I don’t know why I didn’t head downstairs and out the building, but I didn’t. I also don’t remember how long it took me, but I managed to race up 19 stories in what felt like no time at all. I could hear the fire alarm still ringing, even up where I was, but I didn’t care. I had made it up to the 41st floor, and all that stood between me and all the information I’d ever need was a glass door with the words ‘Sports Dept’ written on it.
