We were sitting in the waiting room of the small town physical therapy and gym, chatting with the receptionist to pass the five or six minutes before the therapist was ready.
The physical therapy practice is situated in a former industrial building. The company produced measuring devices, and the complex has 1950s written all over. It has square, stout, grey buildings, their only color accent, dark blue, provided by the new looking double pane windows. The weeds trying to push the concrete slabs of the parking area out of the way and the flaking paint on the weather side indicate that industrial use of the site was discontinued probably between five and ten years ago.
A wheelchair ramp, arguably a necessity for a physical therapy practice and obviously not part of original building, leads up to reception. The reception counter must be part of the former setup, built out of 4x4s with a counter plate so thick and bolts so sturdy that it would have been an effective protection against a battle tank in case the Soviets had ever made it into these western German hills.
The counter top is so high off the ground that we instinctively looked around for a step stool, you know, for height challenged clients.
The waiting area is located behind the reception counter and the seats are of identical rugged construction with a formerly bordeaux dark red 1950s vinyl cover that will outlive us as well as a couple of generations to come.
Under the wide window with a view to the slope leading up to the road some 30 yards away is a table with magazines and refreshments. When they moved to this place, they splurged on a new coffee maker, one of these individual cup Nespresso deals, cute and wasteful.
Right above the window is a green plastic sign showing a pictogram man running towards a pictogram door and. for good measure, the German word "Notausgang", emergency exit.
In the old days, we used to joke about the "Not", a cheap shot, adolescent at best, as in "it is not a regular exit".
Wait, we saw the window on this side of the building as we came in. It is at least 8 feet off the ground, and there is no fire escape there.
Did we not see the fire escape on the outside of the building? Maybe it was the perfect matching grey of the facade, we overlooked it? We leaned over the table to the window. There was nothing but a slope, no paved surface under the window for a fire engine ladder, just the steep slope.
As the receptionist came back from a brief smoke break, we ventured: Do you get lots of comments about the emergency exist sign?
Some, but even more about the signs up on the second and third floors, she smiled. The building inspectors made us put them up. Then a small pause, no, there is no fire escape out there. They only wanted the signs.
Ah, German efficiency.
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