a test

Sometimes, I am far from intelligent. I am not sure whether the fire in my dorm today was intended to be a test of my intelligence, but if so, I failed miserably.

Before I begin that story, I must preface with another story. Well, it’s more of an explanation than a story, but I shall begin with it nonetheless.

While I am a functioning member of society who enjoys adorning herself in pretty clothing while out in public, such is not always the case. As soon as I enter the safe haven of my living space, a transformation occurs. My clothes become restricting and unnecessary, and I have found that the only remedy to my extreme discomfort is to shed them.

In other words, I don’t wear pants at home. Ever.

So, with that background information in mind, imagine my morning. My 9’o clock class across campus had been cancelled, so I was enjoying some quality time in my room—silently laughing at the fact that my roommate’s class did not get cancelled so she still had to put on proper clothes and makeup—being productive as fuck. Okay, so that was a lie. I was listening to music while pretending to read Sartre.

Without pants.

Then, the dreaded sound. I don’t know how to accurately describe the earsplitting shitstorm that was happening right outside my door, so BEEP BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKERS BEEP will have to suffice. Yes, the fire alarm. Oh happy day.

My dorm is notorious for having extremely sensitive fire alarms. Someone decides to make popcorn? BEEP BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKERS BEEP EVERYBODY OUT OF THE BUILDING. Toast? BEEP BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKERS BEEP STOP SLEEPING BITCHES. Pizza? Actually, nothing bad has happened from trying to make pizza.

So, given my previous knowledge of the fire alarm system, I figured I had a few minutes to collect my things, find a clean pair of sweatpants, and amble out the door, complaining with my neighbors about the loud fucking alarm.

But today was different. I smelled smoke (my hair actually still smells a little smoky. thank god for perfume).

I know that people say to keep calm during emergencies and exit the building in an orderly fashion. These people are full of bullshit.

I leapt off of my bed and looked for the closest items of clothing I could find. Unfortunately, in my panic, all I found was a hoodie and a pair of flip-flops. Good enough! I shoved both my arms into the sleeves at once and zipped that bad boy up. The flip-flops I threw on the ground in the hallway and literally ran into them.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I realized that I was not wearing pants. But I could die. So I pulled the hoodie down to cover my butt and kept going. Society’s rules about pants were not about to get in the way of my fresh air.

Of course, I was already self-conscious. I wasn’t wearing pants. But no. That sort of humiliation would not be enough. The building out of which I had just emerged was screaming BEEP BEEP BEEP LOOK AT THIS STUPID BITCH BEEP, calling attention to my pantsless existence. To make matters even better, I had to walk past a tour group to check in at the designated safe zone. WITHOUT PANTS.

So what did I do? What any normal, rational human being would do, of course. I put on my hood and pulled on the drawstrings, hiding my face.

Did I win today? I don’t think so. Touché universe, touché.

Sidebar: Apparently it's National Women's Day. I did my gender proud.

Also, don't be fooled into thinking that I have learned something from today's ordeal. I'm still not wearing pants.