Where's Al Gore when you need him?

If you will, imagine that you are in my place this past Thursday afternoon. You’re sitting in Creative Writing class on the seventh floor of a university building that looks oddly like a parking ramp. It’s hulking, made of concrete, and is void of any architectural beauty. It is wide and sturdy looking. You (as me) are sitting and listening to your classmates read their free writes about jugglers and gophers aloud, looking effortlessly stylish as usual. Right as one reader is finishing his story where the gopher character meets his tragic death by lawn mower, this bomb-shelter-looking unshakable building decides to shake. You hear a rumble and the room literally wobbles.
“It sounds like something hit the building,” Mr. Creative Writing says.
What do you do?
Perhaps you would create a group parachute from backpacks and coats, allowing the entire class to float to safety. Maybe you would call your loved ones. Or you might just blame it on construction happening near by and go on with your work. Any of these would be far more courageous than my response. First, I was the only one to get out of my seat, poised to flee. Everybody else stayed seated, waiting for instruction from the instructor.
“This seems like as good of a time as any to end class,” he said. “Don’t take the el—“
What came after that, I do not know. Don’t take the elephant? The elevated path? The L Word? El sombrero? I am unclear as to what finished the sentence because, as my fellow classmates were calmly packing their things, I was hurdling down the seven flights of stairs, coat in hand and leaving a trail of paper in my wake. All I could think was that the building was coming down and I was NOT going to be in it.
I always have imagined myself acting heroic in a disastrous situation. Perhaps I would lift up a crippled Albanian orphan and fire-carry him to safety. The truth is more like this- Self Preservation. As far as I know, I might have stepped on a newborn puppy’s skull as I thundered down the stairs. I wouldn’t have noticed. Did I even warn people who were walking into the building of the possible danger? Nope. Running into the cold weather, sans coat, I kept running until I was far enough away that I wouldn’t be crushed by falling debris. Here is a reenactment.

The building did not come down. Turns out, the tremor was caused by an ice quake. In other words, we in Wisconsin had a really warm day last week where the ice started to melt. The next day was very cold. The ice, fully confused, contracted, causing it to crack and LITERALLY rock our world (Bill Nye's got nothing on my puns)!

Knowing what I know now, maybe I should be embarrassed at my fleeing. Am I hereby known in my creative writing class as the girl who ran? Would I act the same if it happened again? In the words of Jim Halpert, absolutely I would. Only next time, hopefully, I will look back on this ice quake and remember my cowardly escape. Yes, next time I will carry out the baby animals and sick children. We will run away from the building in slow motion as it explodes behind us, ash smudged attractively on my face with my shirt suggestively sticking to my skin. I will have to be restrained by the crowds as I try to return to save others. Or I might just run away screaming. Or get crushed.