We go through our lives trained for how to respond to fires. In kindergarten, we draw maps for escaping our house and decide where we'll meet our family. A few years later, we practice lining up and filing out of the school. And at every movie, we look for the nearest exit.

I assumed, based on all these drills and reminders, I would know what to do if there ever was a fire as long as I was awake, sober, and the fire wasn't roaring between the exit and me. But after last week, I'm not so sure.

While out of town visiting a friend, I stayed at her apartment. My first morning there, I was taking life particularly slow - lounging around, sipping coffee, posting Instagrams, and not expecting a fire to happen. My friend had gone to work, left me her key, and I wouldn't see her until evening.