someone slammed a door, really loudly, multiple times

Phoole Patreon patrons got to read this before you did, by just a little bit, and you can be one of them for no moneys, if you want.

There is a 98% chance that I will not do a Phoole and the Gang Show tonight, attributable, by more than 50%, to the fact that, at my downtown office building yesterday, someone slammed a door, really loudly, multiple times.

Before I dive into my narrative, I want you to know right now that no one was shot, everyone is okay, I am fine, and you do not need to be stressed about anything in this post. That being said:

Yesterday was a rough week. In fact, it was a difficult month, yesterday. Allow me to explain. Indulge me in my epic tale of surviving a Thursday.

It all began innocently enough — benevolently, even.

(First digression: I affirm that I am typing all of this my very own self, and no "artificial-intelligence" large language model is being used to write any of it at all. I use em dashes frequently. I have read that the use of em dashes has grown recently to be interpreted as a tip-off that someone is using an LLM to write, because LLMs are fond of em dashes, but I am a human who is also fond of em dashes, and, furthermore, I existed before the LLMs, so, therefore, I have at least as much right to em dashes as those code-y bastards do.)

Three months ago, I saw a Reddit post about obtaining free bulk shipments of COVID-19 rapid antigen tests from the US federal government stockpile, which the government plans to destroy if they are not requested soon. I immediately ordered 600 tests and had them shipped to my downtown office - it has a loading dock, and I wasn't sure what carton size wold be used. I would let my employees take home what they needed first, save some for Tiffany and I, and then donate the rest to Mask Bloc MKE. The tests arrived, my team took home about a third, I set aside a few for Tiffany and I, and contacted Mask Block MKE to pick up the rest. Their runner could pick them up yesterday, it turned out.

Normally, I am only on-site in my downtown office on Tuesdays, but I thought it could be nice to have a downtown day on a day when the rest of my team is remote, to enjoy the quiet office and be really productive, so I decided to switch my downtown day to Thursday this week.

I had a productive morning! And Mask Block MKE came by and picked up the tests just after I enjoyed lunch with Tiffany. Productive and satisfying day so far.

At 3:24 p.m., Tiffany texted me.

When an active shooter is reported at the City Hall complex, the buildings are supposed to broadcast announcements warning occupants to shelter in place or evacuate.

These announcements did get broadcast at some locations in the City Hall campus — but not on the 10th floor of the Zeidler Municipal Building, where I was, trapped in my one-exit office in my one-exit workplace, six floors above an apparent armed menace.

I raced to the front door, dragged furniture in front of it, turned off lights, closed and locked my office door, dragged furniture in front of it, assembled projectiles for throwing at anyone who made it past those hurdles, and crawled under my desk, where I remained for the next hour.

I listened intently for any broadcast, but the public address system was silent. I couldn't even hear whether other floors were getting a broadcast.

I relied on texts from my wife and posts on motherfucking Reddit to know what was happening in my building.

Ten minutes after that, someone emailed:

"Please do not go to the ZMB building [sic] this afternoon, as there was an incident that involved a police response."

My skull dissolved from my incredulity. Now my brain was freed from its bone prison!

This did not happen. But it felt like it did.

I replied (and I could have Replied-All, but I didn't, and I want you to admire my restraint, despite every hormone in me screaming that I should Reply-All, just to be a fucking rocket-bitch), "I am in the ZMB. Situation ongoing. Active shooter. PA system is down."

Fifteen minutes after that, my boss called me, to see if I was okay. They had no additional information on what was going on.

The City has an emergency text system in place for emergencies like this. It wasn't used yesterday.

I scrolled online reports of a hundred police patrol and tactical vehicles surrounding the campus. Across the street, Tiffany heard all-clear announcements followed by more shelter-in-place alerts, repeatedly. Rumors swirled that an employee who had been fired that day came back with a gun and might be in one of the stairwells, but no one was saying which stairwell, the east, near me, or the west, on the other side, past the elevators.

So even if I could get out of my office, I would have to risk descending a flight of stairs onto the shooter. I ran all the odds and didn't like any of them. I hunkered down. Tiffany and I texted each other that we loved each other fifty-seven times.

I have blogged at you about the concept of prepping for Tuesday, not doomsday. Here is what I learned about prepping for Thursday, from yesterday's travail.

• I need to have my back-up battery pack charge-y thing charged and with me at all times, forever. I didn't have it yesterday. And by the time Tiffany first texted me yesterday about the possible shooter, my phone was already down to 20% charge. The only charge cord I had with me was very, very short, less than a yard/meter/metre long. So I spent a lot of that hour texting and scrolling with my arms over my head.
  

• I need to have an emergency toilet stowed in my office. I am 53 years old, and I drink a lot of iced green tea, continuously, during most of my waking hours.

  
  

• I need a beach chair or stadium seat stowed in my office, for my under-desk active-shooter lounge fort or whatever the fuck it is. Sitting on the floor for an hour sucks.

  
  

• Snacks wouldn't go amiss either. As it happened, yesterday, I had no appetite for that hour, but I could have ended up there much longer.

  
  

• By sheer coincidence, just a few days ago, US Congress-critters reintroduced a previously-shot-down (see what I did there?) bill to ban civilians from being able to procure body armor, and it looks poised for success this time around. So if I'm adding body armor to my preps for working downtown, I will probably have to make it myself. A decade ago, I imagined needing to get tools and knowledge for sewing Kevlar, so I guess that's on my list for certain now. I already love wearing a helmet.

  
  

• But, really, the best prep is going to be this: on Monday, I'm informing my boss that my team and I will be fully-remote until the PA system in the ZMB is repaired and tested to my personal satisfaction, as in, I will be physically-present during testing to affirm that announcements and alarms can be heard by my team and I when we're on-site.

Every few minutes, I tried to call the City Hall Operator and the City Hall Security line to find out situation updates. Every other call returned conflicting information: I should be able to leave soon, listen for announcements, stay sheltered in place, police will come and get you, you can just leave, return to shelter, listen for announcements.

I told them, again and again: "We have no announcements up here. There are a hundred employees on this floor. We have no announcements."

Tiffany texted that it looked like people were being evacuated from other floors in my building. I crept to a window. They were.

I called Security again: "It looks like people are leaving. Can I leave?"

They guessed I could. They shrugged over the phone and I felt it.

I tore down my gear, stuffed it in my bag and left, head on a swivel, situational awareness maximum.

As I passed other offices on the way to the elevator, which was not shut down at all (and doesn't it seem like it should have been shut down?), staff in other offices poked their head out and asked, "What's going on? Is it all clear?"

I told them Security told me I could leave, so I guessed they could too, but be careful, or something?

I wheeled my little work cart through legions of police in tactical gear, through the Police-Line-Do-Not-Cross tape cordon, through the clusters of TV cameras and anchors, across the street, to the building where Tiffany and I park for downtown work. Its doors were all uncharacteristically locked, but no security staff were stationed at any of the doors, so when someone came out, I scooted in and became the door-person, letting people in if they didn't seem to me to be threatening, because someone had to, and it might as well be me, to keep my mind off my adrenaline and heart-rate and nausea and rage.

Finally, Tiffany's coworker called an officer friend of theirs to escort her office's staff out of their building, and we were reunited at last. We hugged violently, I cried for five seconds, and we raced home.

Then, the worst thunder-and-hail-storm I have ever experienced hit! Lightning struck a tree two doors down from our house and split it in half! Hailstones as large as quail eggs hammered down. The cats were DISMAYED.

Then, after that, naturally, every resident in the City of Milwaukee who is engaged with city government bombarded my team and I with calls and messages that there had been a storm! Attention! ACHTUNG! Did we KNOW? Their tree had been blown down or broken or exploded by the storm. I logged in and helped triage forestry "emergencies", most of which were truly just reasonably small sticks in streets, until 9:00 p.m., whereat I passed out for the night.

Two wonderful things also happened, amid all of that.

When we arrived home, I found a package on the porch sent by a beloved friend full of the most thoughtful gifts and a card that made me sob tears full of love. Thank you, Doctor Swordfish. That delivery could not have been more surprising or more perfectly-timed.

Then, after the storm subsided, another dear friend called Tiffany and I...and came out to us! They're older, we've known them forever, they spent decades and decades closeted, they were inspired by Tiffany's journey, we were on their short list of people to tell. We had that invigorating and uplifting conversation you have when someone finally sets down the ponderous burdens of societal expectations, fear, anxiety, secrecy, everything that's bound up in daring to contravene bourgeois-bullshit capitalist-colonialist social gender constructs.

The amplitude and frequency of yesterday, though? Fucking exhausting.

It turned out that, probably, no shots had actually been fired, and it was doubtful that there was even a shooter. The disgrunted ex-employee, apparently, had slammed a door very loudly, multiple times, and other employees thought the door-slams were gunshots.

It's good that police responded to reports of gunfire. Better safe than sorry.

But, holy fuck, everything else? No. All wrong. Had there actually been a threat, so many people could have died.

My plan yesterday morning was to devote some hours yesterday evening to listening to a lot of music I have had backlogged for the past months, so that I could start to put a playlist together.

But I'm shattered, still, and I think I need yet another week to simply not. I will try giving some music a listen. We will see.