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This story has nothing to do with poker. However, it does involve a max/min problem (remember calculus?) and a bus. It is a reminder of how highly memorable and highly improbable things can happen at any time and how sweet it is to be alive. Here is the story. It is very accurate. No need for embellishment.
BACKGROUND:
Back in the day, I used to play backgammon. I lived in New York and traveled to the occasional European tournament from time to time. Backgammon was (and probably still is) very popular in Denmark. Copenhagen is one of my favorite random places and I tried to get over there whenever I could. I used to make a point of going to tournaments there. Sweden is also great and, conveniently, there is a 30-minute ferry connecting the two (Copenhagen to Malmo, that is). So back in the day, I find myself at a backgammon tournament over yonder and, after busting out, some buddies and I take to a night out on the town.
STORY:
We were all swilling copious amounts of alcohol late into the night. It was me, two Swedes, and a Dane. Drifting about Copenhagen on a drinking spree is a lot of fun, and I highly recommend it. At about 3am I realized I had no shot at keeping up with these guys and sort of merged over to orange juice (hold the vodka). Come about 5am, the group (under my gentle coaxing) decided to call it a night. We were all sloshed (only I had a two-hour head start in working it off).
For some reason, Jens (the Dane) thought it would be nice if the three of us crashed at his ex-girlfriend’s nearby apartment (and he and his ex would crash at his place). Apparently, his place was too small for the four of us. So with a call, he wakes her up and she mozies on over to his place. I wonder how he sold her on that one! I heard it but as it was in Danish, I was clueless as to what he said. Before meeting her at his place, he takes us to her place first.
Jens, Jurgen, Johan, and I amble up five flights of stairs of a beautiful but very old tenement building somewhere in Copenhagen. The apartment had odd wall angles, as we were in a corner unit at the top. The slanted roof outside was reflected inside as well. It was a fairly spacious apartment, but as far as sleeping arrangements went, there was only one bed. I took it. I was tired. It was 5.30am or so, and it was time to call it a night.
One of the Swedes took the couch and the other the floor. So there we are, all splayed out about, when Jens (our host) turns the corner with news that he is brewing up a pot of tea. Insane. Is he blind? We are all passed out and this guy wants to end the night with a bit of tea! I told Jens that he was the greatest host in Denmark, but that he was also insane. It was 5:30am, we were drunk, the Swedes were half asleep, and the night was over. Thank you for your hospitality, but a night is a night, and it has to end sometime. This one was over once we lay down.
He was a bit taken aback but, being smart, he saw that the party was in fact over and it was time to call it a night. With that, he put the tea away and made way back to his apartment.
Sadly, he forgot to blow out the candles he lit in the living room. Apparently, he lit them for the tea session that never happened. Great host, but a wee bit forgetful.
The candles burned down to the table where one of them must have caught hold of something, because when we woke up the apartment was on fire. Johan was the first to notice. Let me bring you up to speed on Johan.
Johan was a great guy who had about 95% of the English-speaking thing wired. The rest, you kind of filled in the blanks and rolled with it. He was a Swedish sausage capitalist. If you left a nightclub in Malmo and wanted to satisfy your late night munchies, then you would inevitably end up buying a sausage from one of his many vendors around town. He also lost about five cell phones a year. He was great fun at parties, but put his kidneys to work like no other person I had ever met. He had two drinks every time anyone had one. He was an all-around nut ball. He was easily excited and always in a highly animated discussion about something or other. Five percent of the time, I would have no idea what he was saying. I would handle those moments by using the surrounding content to piece it all together.
On this particular morning, I woke up to him screaming, “They’re burning, they’re burning!” over and over. I pulled the pillow around my head; obviously, he was making pancakes and thought it important to let us all know that he was messing it up. Just let me sleep. But he was getting crazy with all his screaming. “They’re burning, they’re burning!” he screamed again. Yeah, I know, you told us. Let me sleep. Seconds later, he is jostling me, and I turn to him but I can’t see him. Only white. I open my eyes again. Same thing. Nothing to see. Hmmmmm, strange. I know this is hangover time, but shouldn’t I be able to at least see my surroundings? Huh? He won’t stop screaming, but I can’t even see him… Oh my God! It is white smoke, and the apartment is burning! He is trying to say the apartment is on fire! I can’t see him because of all the smoke. Holy cow! This is no good (I think I might have figured out what was happening faster but, with the hangover and all, I was a little slow on the uptake).
Wow, this is so not good. The place is on fire. Heavy drag. I remember the wall posters in elementary school. Drop and roll. Drop and roll. But then I remember….Drop and roll is for when you are on fire, not when you are in a fire. Well, I remember thinking that whatever we do, we should do it fast. But first let me put my shoes on. Okay, fine, what now? How about finding the door out? The other guys thought this was important, too. However, none of us could seem to remember the way out. And finding the door would be hard with the six inches of forward visibility that we had.
However, the visibility from the floor to about the knees was fairly good. To get around I would scurry around on my knees and try to keep my head close to the floor. It seemed that every time I found a door leading out, it ended up not leading out at all, but usually ended up being a closet or broom space. Highly annoying. The smoke and heat permeate the apartment. The idea of being trapped here – cornered like a rat and burning to death – is actually showing signs of reality, and does not sound fun.
As a kid I remember the think-sessions. “How much would you cut your pinky finger off for?” “Which would be the worse way to die? Burning, or freezing?” “If you had to lose your hearing or sight, which would it be?” “Which would be better: telepathy or invisibility?”
Lucky for you, I have had the answers now for many years. So as far as not finding a way out of this burning apartment, it could be worse. I could have been stranded in a snowstorm and ended up freezing to death. Some of the other kids argued that there would be less pain going the freeze route, but that misses a key point: time spent suffering. Surely you’re better off, time-wise, with the burning scenario, as it is over faster.
Back to the story. I decided, just in case we were in for it and none of us could find the way out, that it was time to find an alternate exit. Yup, the windows. I get to a window, and since I can’t really see much, I start fiddling with the hasp to get it open. No luck. It reminds me of the Billy Hayes (Midnight Express) moment of frustration in the boat during his escape (he spoke at my university back in the day). He explained that, during his escape (happened way differently than in the movie, by the way), he was trying to get the oars into the oar hasps on a rowboat. However, the interlocking device was new to him and he couldn’t figure it out in the darkness. He nearly hit some rocks and made his presence known to some nearby guards. He figured it out in the nick of time and averted death by machinegun.
I was having no such luck. The hasps were completely foreign to me (Hello, Phil? We are in Denmark; everything will be foreign!). I grabbed something nearby and had that window open in no time flat. After busting through a few, I was very disappointed to see that 1) we were still five stories up, and 2) it looked like only a 50/50 chance of survival if it came down to a roof escape. Massive angle and pretty slippery-looking roof top. What a downer.
Last night I was happily gallivanting about Copenhagen, drinking with my new buddies, not a care in the world. This morning I might be burning to death. Talk about one-outers. This was worse for sure.
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