Sixteen of us inspected a prominent teaching hospital. Typical grueling day. Finally, mercifully, it is over. The four of us that remain are enjoying the enchanting Portuguese cuisine at Tony Da Caneca's. Even topped it off with a glass of Remy XO. Had a real good buzz going. A nightcap in the hotel, a Portuguese port - way too sweet. I poured myself into bed just in time for Letterman.

Immediately I dozed off. Suddenly, an ear-piercing, shrill sound jolted me out of bed. Is that the fire alarm? The phone rings.

"Yes?"

"This is not a drill. Get out. We have a real fire."

Grabbing my clothes, I headed for the door. Acrid, thick, choking smoke filled the hall. I could barely pick out the red "Exit" sign.

"Must be electrical."

I hauled ass down 8 flights of stairs. Had to push my way past dozens of firefighters on the way up. You know it's serious when they have those hooks and air tanks.

Hundreds of us poured out into the cold, rainy night. Some were wrapped only in blankets. Caught sight of George. Had on his satin VIP Hilton robe. Looked like a friggin' prize fighter strutting before the contest. Had a genuine Cuban dangling in his mouth. June, our tall, leggy colleague from Hackensack was kind of cuddled next to him.

"Those g**&&am nylons lit up like lighter fluid!"

"You caused that fire?"

"Yup. Fell asleep. Forgot about the nylons in the drier."

"Bummer. Well, as long as we're stranded out here, why don't we find a local pub and get in from the cold. They say it'll be hours."

The only place we could find open was the Amtrak station. We strolled into the massive waiting room. The homeless, drunk and delerious caught one load of George in his satin robe and started grabbing at his feet. Must had thought he was Daddy Warbucks. June was attracting a lot of attention as well. I noticed for the first time she was wearing only a thin negligee under her raincoat. We must have looked like quite a trio. On the other hand, our appearance didn't raise an eyebrow with the jovial crowd at the "Third Rail," which was suddenly doing a land order business, with prices to match, as gaggles of stranded hotel guests poured in. The gossip was already reaching global proportions:

"I hear it was some hooker smoking in bed on the 4th floor."

"Naw, some drunk fell asleep with a cigar on the 8th."

"I heard it was a drug raid gone bad."

"You're all wrong, perked up June. I did it. My nylons caught on fire."

"Get outta here!!"

"No, really. I fell asleep in the laundry room. Next thing I know thick smoke is pouring out of the drier. And that was my last pair."

"Tough break, kiddo," said George, absent-mindedly flicking an ash onto her raincoat. We gasped as we watched the glowing amber slide down onto her negligee, coming to rest in the natural curvature of her ample bosom.

June let out a scream many decibels higher than the hotel fire alarm, then began to gesticulate wildly, apparently not able to precisely pinpoint the source of her searing pain. Simultaneously she let loose her draft beer in a well-directed arc, managing to completely douse George's prize Cuban. By now she had attracted quite an impressive crowd around her, some now grappling with the problem in hand, so to speak.

June, still not aware of the precise cause of her burning pain in her bosom, began flailing and fighting with the all-too-eager Good Samaritans trying to put out the flame in her bosom. Now that's a first.

Finally after much struggling, a lot of cursing, and a lot more flailing about, someone managed to litrally rip her negligee off, throwing it to the ground, trampling the smoldering fabric. Clad now only in her raincoat, desparately clutching it around her, June took off running, with George and I trying to catch up to her. I can just imagine what we must have looked like to the astonished station denizens.

It was 500 AM before we got back to our rooms. Got one hour of sleep. Hilton took $20 off our already overinflated $200 a night room bills. I'll be sure not to blow it all at once.

Finally made it home by dinner the next day.

"How was that inspection," asked my wife?

"I got to chase a half-naked redhead through the train station at two in the morning."

"Yeah, right."