Another Place I Don't Want to Die

I did not have a near-death experience today. For that, I am grateful.

However, I didn't know that I wouldn't be having a near-death experience when, while sitting in a windowless conference room in the basement of an office building having a meeting about nothing all that important, an announcement came over the intercom telling us that a tornado warning had been issued and we should all take cover.

Now, I'll pause to admit that I understand how people who live in the Twin Cities metro area can become blasé about tornado warnings, as twisters rarely seem to hit us here - instead, gravitating toward the outlying towns. Still, it's not all that often that the weather becomes bad enough that we actually have to take cover, so I tend to take a "better safe than sorry" approach to such warnings.

Thus, I felt a little dismayed when the person leading my meeting today didn't even flinch at the intercom announcement and instead went on telling us about the process to make a request to start a process.

The second announcement about taking cover sounded slightly more urgent. As I reached for my cell phone, only to realize that it was sitting back at my desk, which was in the entire next building, I felt a flutter of panic.

I don't want to die here, was my first thought, quickly trumped by, I need to get out of here so I can be with my kids.

Obviously I wanted to be with my kids in case they were also in bad weather and were scared, but I've also found that there is something immensely calming about having to be the one who doesn't panic. I guess having to keep them safe in crisis situations has the side effect of making me feel like it's within my power to do so.

At this point, the power went out, interrupting a riveting Power Point presentation. The conference room phones are apparently hooked to the generators, because all we could see was the dim glow of the phone display. I took this opportunity to lunge for the phone, paying little attention to the rest of the meeting attendees who looked on quizzically.

The thing about those conference room phones is that they only offer speakerphone mode. I can only imagine what my colleagues (all but one of whom I had only just met 20 minutes early) were thinking when they heard me say, "Mom? Were having a tornado warning and I can't leave."

But no, I was not running to mommy in an emergency, I was letting my childcare provider (a.k.a. my mom) know what was going on, as I was supposed to be home in an hour and that was looking unlikely. Still, it was awkward.

After using the phone, we finally filed out into the hallway and our dedicated meeting host resumed our meeting, as if nothing had happened. As if we weren't in a dimly-lit basement hallway, surrounded by 50 computer programmers, all cradling their laptops. God forbid something should happen to your company-issued laptop!

As soon as we got the all clear, I bolted from that basement amid promises of setting up a follow-up meeting, and made it back to my desk. There I was met with a second tornado warning, but at least this time I was able to wait it out with my department mates rather than being trapped in an indestructible meeting. Once that was over, I fled the premises and made it safely home despite the torrential rain.

Now, I know that the idea of avoiding situations in which you don't want to die isn't a realistic way to live your life (I'm pretty sure most of us would never go to work...or to the dentist...or to the DMV), but I don't think it's too much to ask that when an actual emergency situation arises, everyone drop the corporate robot act and be human. Or, at the very least, enjoy the disruption of the corporate monotony. Geez.