In late August of 1976, a sophomore renting a room for the first time in the frat house asked me about the fire escape plan.
“We have a well-thought-out fire escape plan,” I said.
“Yeah? What would that be?”
“We have a fire alarm, and if it goes off walk expeditiously to the nearest window and jump out.”
Silence. Shock. Surprise. This guy hailed from a more organized place, like New Canaan or Nazi Germany.
“Jump out of a window? That’s the fire escape plan?”
“Dude, the house is only two stories and there are lots of windows. How freaking hard can it be?”
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