scheherazade_79
Steamy
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2003
- Posts
- 9,677
How I Spent the Last Night of my Trip to London
I was just drifting off to an extremely dirty little fantasy, when suddenly a siren tore through the silence. I sat up. They had to be kidding. It was probably one of the groups of Spanish teenagers staying at the hotel, filled with alcohol and limitless mischief. Either a careless cigarette lit in one of the non-smoking rooms, or just sheer boisterousness which had resulted in one of the alarms pushed by accident.
I waited for it to stop, but it didn’t. Around me, I heard doors opening and closing, and urgent footsteps shuffling down the corridor.
Reluctantly, I heaved myself from between the tightly-tucked sheets and stood in the middle of the room, debating what to do next. Because of the nature of my job I’m pretty well-versed in fire drill procedure – leave all personal belongings behind, avoid using lifts and exit the building in an orderly fashion. Easier said than done when you’re wearing a skimpy two –piece set advertising the merits of a lesbian lifestyle.
I proceeded to dress at leisurely pace. It was going to be cold outside, and for all I knew I could be out there for a long time. Having wrapped myself in numerous layers, including a hat, coat and scarf, I then located my keycard, picked up my purse, and then made one final dash back into the room in the style of Indiana Jones to fetch my Marlboro Lights.
When I reached the main stairwell, I was greeted with scenes of absolute chaos. People were swarming from their rooms in droves, pushing and shoving to get out as fast as possible. It was one of those situations where civilisation regresses by several thousands of years.
Old people were gripping to the handrail as respectable couples elbowed them to the side, stepping on crying children as they disappeared into the tide of panic. Dozens of different languages filled the air, some hushed, others raucous, but all possessing that hysterical edge that made me afraid to be caught up in the middle of them.
I stepped back and sniffed. Colognes, perfumes, stale cigarettes, body odour… and above it all a distinctly acrid smell. Something was burning.
This was ridiculous. I turned back the way I came, and just a few metres further on I found an emergency stairwell. It was deserted and I sauntered down freely until I was reintegrated with the masses in the lobby.
It was horribly crowded when I got there, but was still filling up by the second. Some people had already been shunted outside, and were lining the streets shivering in half-dressed states. The fire engines had already arrived, and under the flashing lights I was able to get a better look at the night’s fashions.
Some had evidently taken more time than others to leave their rooms. There were businessmen dressed for a meeting, bare-footed girls in Disney nightdresses, old men wearing a flasher’s mac over their pyjamas, and more horrific still – a guy of around my age who was shivering in a pair of boxer shorts.
The circumstances stopped it from being amusing, but I couldn’t escape my fascination with the crowd. Further away, late-night party-goers had stopped to watch the spectacle. I couldn’t blame them. It was the most interesting thing that had happened during my entire stay.
As more fire engines rolled up with teams of London’s finest action figures, I came to the conclusion that I was going to be out here for a while. And this was the moment when my foresight began to reap its rewards. After the most bizarre fag break I’d ever had, I strolled down towards Soho and found a very pleasant little 24-hour bagel shop.
I was probably still a little stoned, because despite the circumstances it was turning into a thoroughly enjoyable night. As I sipped my hot chocolate and got lost in a cream cheese bagel, my only concern was that I’d left my some of my writing lying out on the desk. All the pieces of paper were in polypockets, which might have safeguarded them a fraction, but they were my only copies and losing them would have been a setback that would take months to recover from.
By the time I returned to the hotel, the fire engines had gone and everyone was back inside. The lobby, however, was still in chaos. Only two people were on duty and it appeared that half of the hotel’s guests had forgotten to pick up their keycards before shutting the door behind them. Once again, I felt a profound sense of self-satisfaction as I removed mine from my pocket and headed up the stairs.
As soon as I was in my room, I rolled up another joint, and pulled the chair over to the window so I could lean back and watch the street outside. And the moral of this story is that you should always put some thought into how you might enjoy yourself, regardless of the situation.
Sweet dreams.
Scheherazade xxx
I was just drifting off to an extremely dirty little fantasy, when suddenly a siren tore through the silence. I sat up. They had to be kidding. It was probably one of the groups of Spanish teenagers staying at the hotel, filled with alcohol and limitless mischief. Either a careless cigarette lit in one of the non-smoking rooms, or just sheer boisterousness which had resulted in one of the alarms pushed by accident.
I waited for it to stop, but it didn’t. Around me, I heard doors opening and closing, and urgent footsteps shuffling down the corridor.
Reluctantly, I heaved myself from between the tightly-tucked sheets and stood in the middle of the room, debating what to do next. Because of the nature of my job I’m pretty well-versed in fire drill procedure – leave all personal belongings behind, avoid using lifts and exit the building in an orderly fashion. Easier said than done when you’re wearing a skimpy two –piece set advertising the merits of a lesbian lifestyle.
I proceeded to dress at leisurely pace. It was going to be cold outside, and for all I knew I could be out there for a long time. Having wrapped myself in numerous layers, including a hat, coat and scarf, I then located my keycard, picked up my purse, and then made one final dash back into the room in the style of Indiana Jones to fetch my Marlboro Lights.
When I reached the main stairwell, I was greeted with scenes of absolute chaos. People were swarming from their rooms in droves, pushing and shoving to get out as fast as possible. It was one of those situations where civilisation regresses by several thousands of years.
Old people were gripping to the handrail as respectable couples elbowed them to the side, stepping on crying children as they disappeared into the tide of panic. Dozens of different languages filled the air, some hushed, others raucous, but all possessing that hysterical edge that made me afraid to be caught up in the middle of them.
I stepped back and sniffed. Colognes, perfumes, stale cigarettes, body odour… and above it all a distinctly acrid smell. Something was burning.
This was ridiculous. I turned back the way I came, and just a few metres further on I found an emergency stairwell. It was deserted and I sauntered down freely until I was reintegrated with the masses in the lobby.
It was horribly crowded when I got there, but was still filling up by the second. Some people had already been shunted outside, and were lining the streets shivering in half-dressed states. The fire engines had already arrived, and under the flashing lights I was able to get a better look at the night’s fashions.
Some had evidently taken more time than others to leave their rooms. There were businessmen dressed for a meeting, bare-footed girls in Disney nightdresses, old men wearing a flasher’s mac over their pyjamas, and more horrific still – a guy of around my age who was shivering in a pair of boxer shorts.
The circumstances stopped it from being amusing, but I couldn’t escape my fascination with the crowd. Further away, late-night party-goers had stopped to watch the spectacle. I couldn’t blame them. It was the most interesting thing that had happened during my entire stay.
As more fire engines rolled up with teams of London’s finest action figures, I came to the conclusion that I was going to be out here for a while. And this was the moment when my foresight began to reap its rewards. After the most bizarre fag break I’d ever had, I strolled down towards Soho and found a very pleasant little 24-hour bagel shop.
I was probably still a little stoned, because despite the circumstances it was turning into a thoroughly enjoyable night. As I sipped my hot chocolate and got lost in a cream cheese bagel, my only concern was that I’d left my some of my writing lying out on the desk. All the pieces of paper were in polypockets, which might have safeguarded them a fraction, but they were my only copies and losing them would have been a setback that would take months to recover from.
By the time I returned to the hotel, the fire engines had gone and everyone was back inside. The lobby, however, was still in chaos. Only two people were on duty and it appeared that half of the hotel’s guests had forgotten to pick up their keycards before shutting the door behind them. Once again, I felt a profound sense of self-satisfaction as I removed mine from my pocket and headed up the stairs.
As soon as I was in my room, I rolled up another joint, and pulled the chair over to the window so I could lean back and watch the street outside. And the moral of this story is that you should always put some thought into how you might enjoy yourself, regardless of the situation.
Sweet dreams.
Scheherazade xxx
