That's hilarious. I've had that happen a couple of times. No bueno. My first night in the homeless shelter when I became homeless at 23, I got a bad migraine, I'd been crying a lot, all of my art in my old art pads had gotten soaked with orange juice from the foil-top OJ cup I brought from the hospital breaking in my travel bag, ruining decades of artwork, I was scared, and I woke up paralyzed in the bottom bunk bed, scared as Hell. Then while struggling to get out of it the room started flashing red because of the fire alarm going off and that took me out of it. I'm standing out in the dark shaking still traumatized to find out it was a drill, but COME ON!