Everyone shows up at once. The Archive Committee, a group of five elderly men and women, crowd into my office as a guy with his name on his shirt is trying to explain to me how he accidentally set off the fire alarm. One of the archive committee members is offering me maple syrup ("From my property in Vermont," he says) as the phone rings and I try to explain to my boss why the firemen might show up at any minute.
I take the Archive Committee to the church and the other guys to the basement where they will shut off the alarm. We can hear the sirens outside. The firemen arrive, wearing all their gear and looking irritated, and I try to explain to them that this is not my fault, it's that guy over there with his name on his shirt, and the manager of the skyscraper next door is trying to tell them what happened, too, but he doesn't really know. The firemen keep saying "Don't tell me probably. I don't want to hear probably. Someone tell me what happened." I guess if I had to wear those coats in the summer just to find out some guy pulled the wrong lever I would be irritable, too (and if I were carrying around an ax I wouldn't really have any reason to disguise my irritation).
This is probably the most entertaining part of my work week. Certainly more exciting than folding two hundred and fifty letters and a stack of brochures and stuffing them into preprinted envelopes.
Later my boss and I are bonding over iPhones. I got one a couple months ago, he got one last week. He is very excited that he can get the weather on his phone. Outside now there are people eating lunch and there is this couple who apparently have standing appointment to stand under the Lych Gate and make out on weekdays. I wonder if the firemen will come back.