My suggestion: Ginger Ale Saved My Life
Walking back to my desk from the vending area, I smelled smoke. Someone must have burned popcorn again. I sat down at my desk and began pouring my ginger ale into the plastic cup I had filled with ice. Joe stood up in the cube next to me and said, “Do you smell that?”
“Yeah. Someone burned popcorn again.”
“No, that doesn’t smell like popcorn to me.”
“A bagel?”
“No.”
“Pizza? I don’t know, I don’t have a keen sense of smell,” I said, frustrated.
“I think it’s… the building.”
I grabbed my cup of ginger ale and walked out into the aisle to look around. Heads were beginning to pop up around the office. Everyone was sniffing. For a moment we were all gophers.
Suddenly, the alarms began to go off. Joe rushed by, slamming into my arm on the way to the exit. My cup of ginger ale spilled all over my hands, arms and shirt. I shouted at him, but cut myself short as I realized that everyone else was evacuating. I decided to join them.
When I arrived at the stairs, they were filled with smoke – impassable. I then saw Joe running towards Smokers’ Balcony. Smokers’ Balcony was an open-air balcony on the fourth floor that looked out over the entrance to the building. This is where the smokers went when they needed a cigarette. There was a high rail around the balcony for safety, and presumably to keep workers from attempting to slide down the sloped glass that extended out into the circle driveway in front of the building.
We followed Joe to Smokers’ Balcony and I immediately understood his plan. He was going to slide down the sloped glass into the bushes that rested just below. He began to climb over the rail and I shouted, “Joe, wait!” He turned and looked at me. Then he said, “What other choice do we have?” I stared at him blankly. A crowd had gathered, but was silent as Joe hoisted himself over the rail and stood looking down the slope. He then sat down and pushed off.
Joe slid quickly down the glass. Too quickly. He began to flail his arms in an attempt to slow himself down, but to no avail. He was silent but you could tell that he knew he was going to overshoot the bushes because he was going too fast. We held our breath as he reached the edge of the glass and hurtled over the bushes only to come crashing down hard on the edge of the concrete sidewalk. He didn’t move.
I put my hand to my head and muttered, “Oh, shit.” When I took my hand away, I noticed that it was still sticky from the ginger ale that Joe had spilled all over me. Suddenly a plan occurred to me.
I immediately pulled out all of my singles and told everyone to buy as much soda from the vending machine as possible. I gathered people on the balcony with the soda and ordered them to roll up their sleeves. I instructed people to open the soda and pour it all over their hands. They looked at me with confusion in their eyes.
I showed them my sticky hands and said, “It will slow us down. We’ll land in the bushes.” They still hesitated. I climbed the rail and dropped down onto the glass. I shouted, “Watch.” I lay down on my stomach and began sliding down feet first. When I put my hands on the glass, the stickiness of the dried ginger ale slowed me to a stop. I made my way down the glass and safely dropped over the edge onto the bushes. Within minutes the entire fourth floor was standing safely with me on the sidewalk.
Ginger ale saved my life.
Your suggestion: kilograms were key
