Korean Fire Drill

Since we moved to our 5th floor campus apartment in August, I have chuckled over the "descending life line" contraption next to our balcony windows.  (Elisabeth wonderfully dubbed this system as "jumper cables.") All the instructions and warning labels on the steel bars were in Korean, and we live in a cement-and-steel building that is unlikely to burn down. So we quickly learned to ignore this little oddity.

A paint-splattered plastic box on the wall below seemed to be related to the lifeline, but again, a quick glance showed a lot of  fine print (undoubtedly in Korean).  This system would have to be fool-proof anyway, as it's intended for panicking people. So, imagining ourselves to be reasonable people, we put a (found) dresser next to it for storing craft supplies and seashells; we stuck the folding beach grill in that handy little space; and I arranged lots of plants in the sliding windows' warm southern light.  

But while waiting for the kids' procedures at the dentist's office a couple of weeks ago, I noticed a similar fire escape contraption and was impressed to see it had clear instructions in English and a few other languages (though the warnings were only in Korean).

What you can learn at the dentist's office.

Now, as the daughter of a 20+ year volunteer fireman and a 10+ year volunteer fire department photographer, I began to feel a wee bit guilty that I had no fire escape plan for my family.  And for some reason, despite my list of other things to do, today I decided was The Day to do a trial run of our fire escape system.

I gave the kids fair warning:  "We are having a fire drill in 2 minutes. Listen for the bell."  They were rather confused and perhaps concerned about their mother's sanity. In the meantime, I unpacked the box and figured out how the stupid thing worked, squinting at the instructions (yes, ok, they were in English) and making a mental note to grab my reading glasses in case of fire.

It was time to start the fire drill.  I found Elisabeth's distressingly-loud Indian bell and mercilessly clanged away. Sam took at least 2 minutes to get out of bed (hey - it's nearly noon and I did give a 2-minute warning, which actually lasted closer to 5 minutes. This is not an ACLU-worthy incident). When he emerged (grumbling about just wanting to roast marshmallows in the fire), I play-shrieked about the "grease fire" in the kitchen!  Oh no!  And the door out of our apartment was blocked by the fire and smoke! To the balcony we must go! Sam rolled his eyes and moseyed to the balcony, harried by bouncing siblings who were far more eager to try this out.   

David affixed the pulley to the steel bar via a giant locking carabiner,
which was not-so-nicely packed at the bottom of the box, just as I found it originally.
He then secured the padded seat belt thing in compliance with the instruction to
"Take the belt under your arm."

David prepares to mimic heaving the rope "rill" out the window.
Which got us to wondering how the next person would escape. 

David is all-too-ready to rappel.

Sam took 2 minutes; we made some adjustments to the default set up, leaving the pulley affixed to the steel bar, and David and Elisabeth each took about 30 seconds.  So, from fire alarm to full escape, it will take the 5 of us 2.5 minutes to get out of the building.  We adjust the plan to include closing the sliding doors to delay the fire getting to us.  

By now, the kids were really getting into this.  They insisted that they REALLY test the system by rappelling down the wall and meeting at our designated meeting place.  No, I say.  Not gonna happen.  I am firm.  Clear.  Authoritative.  But I know, deep in my denial-loving heart, they may decide to try it out when I'm not home.... Ah, well.  They could be playing video games.  :)