I actually opened my eyes around 9:30 this morning and contemplated getting out of bed for the next hour. "To get out of bed or not to get out of bed," I thought. "That is the question."
Then I heard them. Sirens.
I jumped out of bed, grabbed a jacket (hey, it might be cold out there--with Atlanta weather, you never can tell), and ran out my door. I was actually in the hall before Brenna started knocking on doors as her duty as RA. Then again, I live almost next to her.
There were no cookies for us this time in Alston. Instead, a group of us sat just inside Alston, and another group of us (including me) sat in the Amelia lounge, where the cookies were last time. That's when we heard them. More sirens.
This time they were attached to a fire truck. We glued our eyes to the window. The fire truck was actually driving up the brick pathway to make its way to Walters.
"I heard something about a real fire," one girl said as the firemen ambled into Walters.
"Really?" I asked.
"I don't know if it really is, though," she said.
"Well, that can be dangerous once we get into second, third, nth-hand discussion," I replied.
This fueled discussion about a fire in the laundry room. After wondering who in her right mind would do laundry on a Sunday morning, we dismissed that. That doesn't sound like a bad idea, assuming I can get up early enough.
A few minutes later someone from Public Safety came in and told us that the fire department wanted to give us an all-clear before letting us back in the building. So we hung out in Alston even longer. Finally (finally!) we watched the fire truck leave, and the same person from Public Safety returned. She told us that there was smoke in the mechanical room on the ground floor.
"So it wasn't anybody's fault?" someone asked. The public safety officer said no.
"Did the sprinklers go off?" someone else asked. No, thank goodness. We could go back to Walters. Whew.
Now, my dears, I'm going to breakfast. Or lunch. Or brunch. Whatever. Take care of yourselves.