The Day It Got Real

I woke up this morning, thinking it would be just a regular Monday. The only departures I saw were that it’s the last Monday before I go home for Christmas vacation and that work would be a little busier because everyone would try to get things done before the holiday. Well…let’s just say I wouldn’t be writing this if I were right.

I was walking to the post office and I got a text. As is usual, I tried to figure out who it was from. I correctly guessed it was from my mom. I had no way of guessing what was in the text message, though.

My dad blacked out and collapsed on the floor at the house, having to go to the hospital. She said all the tests so far turned out okay and that they were going to run some more. I felt a little better, but I had another reason (as if I needed it) for these four days to pass by quickly. I did talk to my dad during lunch, and he pretty much echoed what my mom said in the text earlier.

The last thing I said to him was that he’d better beat me home.

*Talked to him again just now. Everything has checked out fine, and he said he should be home tomorrow.

That would be more than enough to fill a post on most days, but something else happened in the time I was sitting here. I got a call from someone in the building who heard there was a man with an assault rifle in the church across the street.

Now I’m the closest to the door (but at least I’m facing it, so I’m not violating that rule), so I was just thinking “today just is not my day: how could I find out my dad’s in the hospital and then have my chances of making it home rival his”…a little melodramatic, but you never know.

Without fail, someone wanted to leave the office and I had to tell her she wasn’t going anywhere. What did she do? If you guessed “stay at the front of a building with doors that are mostly glass”, then you get two points. You get extra credit if you surmise that the same thing happened three more times.

Since I’m the only male working in the building who isn’t an attorney, this is where “bull-chivalry” comes in. See, “bull-chivalry” is the term that I just came up with to describe all the stuff I have to handle here simply because I have a Y chromosome. Equal parts “bull”, “chivalry”, and “valor”.

I had to make sure the building was locked down and stay out front and so on. I never felt like I was (going to be) in any real danger – and even if I was, I’d bet it all that I’m the best equipped to handle such an instance – so it didn’t bother me a lot. Same time, what if something did pop off and I suddenly had to protect 30-40 people? I have a quick mind, a caring soul, and a whole lot of heart. I do not have professional training.

While today may not end up in the “harrowing” file by the end of the month, it certainly has been so in a comparative sense. For more reasons than one, I am more resolute than ever in knowing it’s time to get out of here.