My boss takes off for a 1:00 pm Nats game, and I’m stuck with a fire drill.
Fire drills were somewhat cool and useful in school, but at the office, just annoying, somewhat. At least the building management is serving cookies by the platter – an offering to appease the pissed off executives who were in the midst of meetings with very very important (meaning wealthy) clients? I suppose so. Fine with me. Two sugar cookies it is.
Irony hits. In our building, coming down the stairs to exit is ok. But as we’re given the green light to re-enter the building, apparently going up the stairs is a no-no. The doors are locked. You would think that walking up a few flights of stairs is a healthy dose of cardiovascular exercise. But this is America.
Result? Hoards of people, young and old, clustered in the lobby, munching on cookies. Taking the elevators in shifts. Disgusted, I walk out and wander to the promised land – Illy Coffee. Just a few blocks from the mayhem. I briefly debate 12 oz versus 16 oz. Size matters in Illy land.
Just missed the last ticking seconds at a crosswalk. I stand and sip, when I hear this ten feet behind my head: “Street Sense, it’s the paper with a heart.” I’ve seen these people before, but never bothered to read the paper. I don’t even read the The Express, or The Examiner. Every morning, in sun or in rain, they distribute these things in front of the Metro entrance. I walk by nonchalantly, smiling, sometimes. News is depressing, too much so for the morning. The office is depressing as it is. And I have better stuff to read.
But “a paper with a heart”. Somehow, that phrase is sticky, like gum to the bottom of a shoe. Maybe the fact that it’s a paper published with the help of the homeless in the area has something to do with it.
Maybe I should take a copy of Street Sense next time.