After our early evening BRICK (Bike (7.5 miles), Run (4 miles), my legs feel like ICK), Paigie and I ran back to her apartment to clean ourselves up and get ready for Matt's fundraiser in Times Square. I hosed off in the kitchen sink (no pictures but it really was quite amusing) while Paigie hit the bathroom. Then she made a quick phone call and I dried my hair (that I washed in the sink). We frantically threw on some clothes and hustled out the door. I'd like to say that it was a record time but there was definitely some lolly gagging. We were, however, clearly oblivious to the outside world because when we opened her apartment door, we were greeted by building management and the fire department (several firemen covered head to toe in black soot and dripping wet). They may or may not have evacuated the whole building, we didn't hear anything. But when we asked what happened, they told us that there was a fire on the roof deck (directly above Paigie's apartment) but not to worry, it was now contained. So we did what any lovely ladies would do and hopped in the elevator with the hot firemen (actually, the ones we got were old and pudgy but we figured they'd have friends waiting downstairs). And boy were we right. Look what we found:
It was slightly amusing though- when we got off the elevator with Tubby and Chunky (the firemen), we were greeted by all of the other residents of the building who were waiting downstairs (you know, the ones who got the memo that the building was on fire and they should leave). It looked like WE were the culprits and WE were being rescued and escorted out. We got dirty looks, stares and glares, even as we kept yelling, "WE DIDN'T DO IT." Then we walked up the block to the subway, humming Billy Joel quietly to ourselves, "We didn't start the fire, it was always burning since the world's been turning..."