I didn’t know what time it was when I stepped into the news station’s breakroom. I sat at a round kitchen table and stared at the white phone on the white wall, with its over-used cord stretched to a loose loop. I would use the phone to call my mom — long distance — in a minute. If anyone upstairs in the newsroom found out, they would understand. More than a few co-workers wanted to call home, I felt sure, and many had already made the call at least once that day.
We had a lot to talk about. But the pitter-patter of fingers on keyboards and whispers as though we were in church replaced our customary newsroom banter. Our somber approach to our work was the new norm.
I really liked my job. I could write and get paid for writing. The job’s hours (a late-day shift) suited me too. I didn’t have a journalism degree, and I couldn’t believe my luck. I fell into the job when a friend needed someone to fill in for him while he went on vacation. I fit in with the newsroom staff and, when my friend returned, they offered me a more permanent role. But, given the day’s events, my future there seemed uncertain, I thought, as I sat at the breakroom table and fiddled with the lanyard around my neck.
I had to wear my ID badge in the news station, all day, for the first time. The news director stopped me earlier and said that I had to wear it as part of new, immediate, security measures. I couldn’t tell who was more concerned — the news director for our building’s security, or the senior photographers and reporters for our civil liberties. All agreed that the national lockdown would become an all-encompassing mentality, and that the current administration would use what had happened to sweep the Middle East with U.S. military action. It was only a question of time.
One or two of the senior photographers who had seen it all during their careers — traffic accidents, all types of crime, riots, floods, and the like — cried as the raw news feeds came in from New York. I avoided where the photographers sat in the editing bays as best I could. But, in doing my job, I caught more than a glimpse of images that I knew would stay with me forever.
The buildings looked like chimneys, and when they came down, I collapsed, rocking forward on my couch and gripping the phone to my ear. I felt a collective moan, a lament — and words fail to describe it. It was as if the whole nation sobbed, and clutched their hearts. The echo stayed in my ears for weeks, months.
“We’re under attack!” I groggily awoke as I put my phone to my ear that morning, my best friend on the line. She sounded insane. “Turn on the TV!”
It had to be a mistake, a horrible pilot error. What was the other explanation? How could a commercial airliner dive into an office building by any other means? I couldn’t even guess, and then it happened again, as I watched. And then the buildings fell.
Though I wasn’t scheduled to work, I dressed and headed for the news station, my hands gripping the steering wheel and eyes on the sky. I sat at my desk in the newsroom and wrote from the newsfeeds, creating articles for the station’s website. I don’t know how long I stayed there — until the light changed and faded, and I wandered downstairs into the breakroom by myself.
“Hi Mom,” I said. Her voice in reply was soft and comforting. I told her everything I knew, had seen, and felt. “Everything is going to change now,” I told her.
How Prepared Are You?
Since then, I mentally note where the exits are in any building I enter, as well as alternate exit routes. I attended safety training for my current workplace, and signed up as the primary contact for emergencies in our office. I shepherded my co-workers as we completed numerous fire drills in accordance with our landlord’s, and the city’s, requirements. I knew where to find the fire extinguishers and first-aid cabinet. I thought I was well-prepared.
At mid-morning on a typical workday, I sat at my desk typing on my keyboard. Without warning, the overhead lights went out and my computer screen became a black slate. I sighed and rolled my eyes, and reached for my desk phone to call building management. But the “IP” (internet protocol) phone wouldn’t work without power. I reached for my cell phone, and the fire alarm went off. I thought: Do I smell smoke?
I approached the door to the hallway and heard a building engineer run past, keys jangling. I opened the door a crack. Emergency lighting backlit an inky black cloud as it spread from the restroom a few yards away. I closed the door and turned back to my office. The fire alarm would alert the fire department, so I didn’t need to dial 911. We need to get out. But the smoke is blocking the way to the stairwell.
I called building management on my cell phone and it rang… and rang… and went to voicemail… and then disconnected. I tried two more times. I was disconnected again and again.
“Grab your stuff, we need to leave. There is smoke in the hallway.” I kept my voice calm, but raised it over the fire alarm. I repeated what I had said as I moved through the office, and watched my co-workers’ faces as they listened and then understood. Their mouths fell open and their eyes widened. We approached the hallway door together. I didn’t have a flashlight, but my co-workers used their cell phones to light our way.
“Link up, stay together — it’s hard to see. Head for the closest stairwell.” It was too dark to try for the stairwell on the building’s other side. My co-workers stepped into the hallway while I held open the door. The dark was chaotic; others moved through it unseen, shouting. I turned back to make sure everyone was out, and then followed, hoping that the fire wasn’t where we wanted to go.
We made it out, together. The fire department put out the fire, and the damage was minimal. We returned to the office in a few days.
I had more than enough time to reflect on what had happened, and on what I could have done better. My biggest lessons felt like much-needed reminders: Everything changes, though we expect things to remain the same, and we’re often caught unaware, despite our past experiences.
11 Tips to Increase Your Safety at Work
Please take a moment to apply these safety tips to your own situation at work.
- Keep a small flashlight at your desk or workstation. In an emergency, it’s better to use the flashlight rather than your cell phone’s battery.
- Determine whether your desk or workstation phone will operate if the power goes out.
- Know your exits, and your alternative exits. Communicate that information to your co-workers.
- Keep a pair of practical, comfortable shoes at your desk or workstation. You won’t want to deal with the idiosyncrasies of fancy shoes in an emergency.
- Designate a point of contact among your co-workers for emergencies — someone who knows where to find all the fire extinguishers and first-aid supplies. Also designate two alternative points of contact.
- Identify the co-workers who may need extra help exiting the building in an emergency.
- Identify the co-workers who know CPR, and encourage your company to introduce CPR training in your workplace.
- Decide ahead of time what you will take with you if you have to leave your office in a hurry.
- Determine if the external meeting location for your office in case of a fire is the same for other emergencies.
- Learn to use a fire extinguisher. At the very least, watch a video on how to do it.
- Don’t assume “something like that will never happen here”.
In Ben Sherwood’s book, The Survivor’s Club, the author identifies character traits that many survivors of unexpected events share: adaptability, intelligence, helpfulness, intuition, hope, and faith in greater powers. The fire in our office building gave me the opportunity to demonstrate a few of these traits. The event also increased my gratitude tenfold for my ability to return to my loved one that night, and woke me up to the persistence of change. We all could get better at anticipating change in the form of unexpected events, and preparation, more than our past experiences, is key to our survival.