A Pizza Advice

So there we were, Little Sister after a weekend with her friends and me after my birthday/Thanksgiving extravaganza – we were home. We were peckish. I chose a bowl of cereal. L.S. decided on frozen pizzas.

I was in my bedroom when I heard it – the familiar screech of the smoke alarm. Then another alarm, and then a THIRD which was coming through the speaker in the ceiling. A little pizza fire was now a full scale building emergency! I yelled over the squealing for L.S. to turn on the fan and open the patio door and, with the front desk phone busy, down the stairs I ran to try to calm the masses!

An unfamiliar dude at the front desk understood me when I told him a pizza was only to blame but he said the process had been started and now had to play out. The elevators were stopped and people milled about, stranded and confused. And the piercing alarm continued.

While I was stuck downstairs – in my bare feet, shorts and a t-shirt – three times the concierge went on the building-wide sound system and announced that everything was ok, that the problem was merely burned food in – and then he said our suite number!! THREE TIMES! How embarrassing.

Meanwhile, L.S., alone and humiliated in the condo, received a visit from a gaggle of firefighters wearing all of their gear and looking quite intimidating to her. Once they confirmed a harmless little pizza was to blame, they were on their way. The stinging alarm eventually stopped and the elevators kicked into gear. Later, L.S. and I had a big laugh at how I must have appeared to the other residents. With no shoes, my hair up in a headband and dressed down to say the least, she presumed they thought I had totally panicked at the alarm and dashed downstairs to safety, probably pushing old ladies and children out of the way like George Costanza on Seinfeld!

On the upside, we now know how quickly and efficiently the warning system here works and that’s a good thing. The next time, it might not be just an overdone pizza.