It was an evening gala held at Washington DC's Newseum, a museum dedicated to news. It began with hundreds of individuals bused to the Newseum to dine, dance and enjoy the museum exclusively for their entertainment. For starters, I enjoyed a variety of exquisite food, along with my bottle of Dansani water that I brought with me. (It was a cash bar for alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages including $4 water.) This was followed by taping a newscast. Then meandering around the museum.
As the evening approached it's end I searched for the exit so that I could board the buses that were heading back to the hotel. The words "Group Exit" appeared at the end of the room. I was with a group and I wanted to exit. Despite no one else heading that direction, I continued on past three wait staff who paid no attention to me. The large steel doors opened easily as I pushed against them. As the door closed behind me, I realized that I was now in a deserted gift shop. The doors I came through were not intended to be opened from this side. I searched around and realized that the only other exit had been closed. Calling out for assistance would be futile with the loud music blaring from the other side of the doors. Visions of being held hostage here until the morning employees came to open the gift shop plaqued me. Feeling helpless, I turned again to the huge steel doors and was able to slip a finger or two between them. With no good grasp, I had to rely solely on the friction my fingers had against the door. It slowly yielded to the point I was able to get my fingers on the other side of the door and pull it open.
I now am thankful that I will be spending the evening on a bed instead of on a floor.