Fifteen minutes ago...and by all that is holy, I am not kidding, something screeched inside my apartment. All I could think of was "What the hell?" as I looked for any possible reason why my apartment could be angry.

And then it hits me. The whole building is screeching and flashing, and I realize that the noise was the fire alarm. I also remember that this building is full of college students. After cursing and grabbing my coat, I come out of my apartment to find that there is indeed a fire...or at least there was. Some bimbo from apt 911 downstairs set a grease fire from trying to fry french fries.

OH MY BLOODY GOD.

I stand outside by the door, listening to the screaming of the bimbos on floor one, the laughter and confusion from the guys on floor two, and it seems nobody's home on floor three, except for me. Two minutes in, sirens from down the street signal the arrival of the fire department. This mess wasn't my fault, but I'm pretty sure that it was up to me to display embarrassment for the whole building as everyone rushed outside with their cameras and camera phones to take a picture of the two, count 'em TWO, fire trucks and firefighters coming inside. I was the one to tell them that there was a fire on floor one. Why? Because everyone was still technically in the building. I, along with two others, actually left the building and took the threat of fire seriously.

I'm pretty sure I wanted to slap each and every one of them, the girls on the first floor twice, for not only setting the building's alarms off, but for taking pictures of the flustered firefighters as they slipped into the building to check and stomped back out to their trucks afterward. What is wrong with people? Honestly? And why the hell did I choose to live with these people?

Well, there were a couple of hot guys from floor two. They knew me from riding the bus back and forth to school with them. That was nice.

Oh, and by the way, I have a chem test tomorrow. There goes a half hour of study time!