Fire hazards

Quick story.

Friday night, I decided I wanted to go to the dining hall to eat. Cara and I had discussed going out, but we decided we'd at least check and see if there's anything good in the cafeteria.

We walked up and heard a fire alarm. I recognized it as the university-wide alarm that meant "get out of the building." It was so loud! I opened up the door, and it got even louder.

People were all standing around inside and even sitting and eating. Pat, a woman who has worked in the dining hall on and off for the past three years or so, recently back after what I can only assume is her annual firing/layoff, greeted us and told us "there's no fire."

"People still have to leave the building. An alarm is going off."

"There's no smoke."

I reached for my phone and called FAUPD, who I often work with in emergency situations. I recognized the voice on the line as Officer Ignoramus Wilson, a fool who has on multiple incidents shown up late --once he didn't show up at all!

"There's a fire alarm going off in the dining hall--"

"I know. We're on our way. Who is this?"

"James - doesn't matter - there are multiple--"

"James who?" After working with Wilson for so long, he has yet to recognize my face or name.

"What matters is that there are people just hanging out in the dining hall while an emergency alarm is going off."

"We're on our way."

I hung up. The alarm still going.

Some girl, a senior like myself who I don't regularly converse with, came outside and said to Cara and myself, "You guys look confused. You can come inside. There's no fire."

"It doesn't matter. Can't go inside if an alarm is going off."

We'd arrived at roughly 7:10pm, and it was now ten minutes later. The police didn't arrive in a timely fashion (imagine that! if only it'd been a real blazer, maybe Wilson would finally lose his job), and when they finally did, it was almost time for the cafeteria to close.

An off-duty officer was with Wilson. They change shifts around 7, so Ron Legere, who has always been more than helpful in emergencies, told everyone to leave the building. They did, and the two "professional" staffers from the dining hall, Pat and a large cook named George, lit up cigarettes right by the door as the police looked inside.

Pat eventually made her way to the police golf cart to have a seat while she smoked.

Cara and I, at this point, decided on Sierra Grill, a fast-food Mexican sort of place on Indiantown. When we got there, it was vacant and had a sign that said they'd moved to Northlake.

We had Taco Bell.