Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Fired Up
In a hotly contested election this fall, I was named the fire marshal of my floor at the office. I say "hotly contested" in the sense that everyone was doing everything possible to avoid receiving the title, to the extent that my opponents attacked me with unfounded accusations of "reliability" and "levelheadedness" and even went so far as to be out of the office on election day. So I accepted the post with a speech extolling the virtues of "someone having to do it" and proudly took on my shiny yellow flashlight and vaguely-WWII-reminiscent armband. Anyone who says power is an aphrodisiac clearly has not seen this getup.
The duties of a fire marshal, in case you are wondering, include attending meetings about terrible things that could possibly happen to your coworkers (but not the fun kind of terrible things) at which you squint at poorly drawn maps of your floor, putting on a concerned face to tell people which stairs they're supposed to take or which food court they're supposed to congregate at in the event of Armageddon (but not the movie), and dealing with people's sarcastic remarks during the thousands of annual fire drills (but not by setting them on fire). As the great philosopher said, with great power comes great responsibility.
Unfortunately, I have yet to be in my office for a single fire-related activity. Apparently, danger only strikes when I am at lunch, peeing, or making a run to Starbucks. Although it is always delightful to hear everyone else describe the various crises on my return, I can't help but feel that eventually there will be fatalities. It is possible to spearhead a campaign for one's own impeachment? Come on, people, think of the children.
In a hotly contested election this fall, I was named the fire marshal of my floor at the office. I say "hotly contested" in the sense that everyone was doing everything possible to avoid receiving the title, to the extent that my opponents attacked me with unfounded accusations of "reliability" and "levelheadedness" and even went so far as to be out of the office on election day. So I accepted the post with a speech extolling the virtues of "someone having to do it" and proudly took on my shiny yellow flashlight and vaguely-WWII-reminiscent armband. Anyone who says power is an aphrodisiac clearly has not seen this getup.
The duties of a fire marshal, in case you are wondering, include attending meetings about terrible things that could possibly happen to your coworkers (but not the fun kind of terrible things) at which you squint at poorly drawn maps of your floor, putting on a concerned face to tell people which stairs they're supposed to take or which food court they're supposed to congregate at in the event of Armageddon (but not the movie), and dealing with people's sarcastic remarks during the thousands of annual fire drills (but not by setting them on fire). As the great philosopher said, with great power comes great responsibility.
Unfortunately, I have yet to be in my office for a single fire-related activity. Apparently, danger only strikes when I am at lunch, peeing, or making a run to Starbucks. Although it is always delightful to hear everyone else describe the various crises on my return, I can't help but feel that eventually there will be fatalities. It is possible to spearhead a campaign for one's own impeachment? Come on, people, think of the children.
