The fire alarm went off sometime between 3:30 and 4 a.m. this morning giving me a rude awakening from my deep slumber.
“Attencione,” the recorded voice started after the siren paused for a message instructing guests to use the stairs to evacuate the building played in a series of languages. I quickly dressed and as instructed headed down the stairs from the hallway outside my room on the sixth floor.
When I exited the building, I had a second to do a cursory assessment of the situation. No flames shooting out of the windows. Check. No screaming guests. Check. No fire trucks on site. Check. No sirens of emergency vehicles in the distance. Check. Everything appeared to be OK.
And as it turned out, it was. A clerk working the night shift eventually came outside and advised everyone that it was safe to return to their rooms. This afternoon when I got back to the hotel from the convention, I asked another clerk what happened. “Just a minor incident in the kitchen,” she said, as she apologized for the inconvenience.
My only problem with the incident was my interrupted sleep put me in what seemed like a stupor at the convention this morning. Of course, a bit of coffee and an internal dialog telling myself to snap out of it eventually got me over that hurdle. But as I said to a few people on the convention floor today, if I want to feel like I have a morning hungover in Amsterdam, I at least want to be getting back to my hotel at 3:30 a.m., not exiting it.