It was only when I stopped at 5 or so to go to the bathroom that I realized I was that chick from the beginning of a horror movie. The first pair of jeans I'd grabbed that morning were long ones that necessitated a pair of stripper heels to not drag on the floor. There was a push-up bra involved in the rest of the Omigod!Co-ed ensemble (Again the first thing I'd grabbed that morning as all others were hanging to dry.). Also, I was alone on the first floor of an office building after sundown with no lights on but those at my own desk and I had my back to an eight-foot window.
There was absolutely no way I was going to fend off a zombie attack unless I used one of the stiletto heels to stab it in the head--Which I've practiced with that particular pair, but definitely not from a sitting position.
Then, when my disembodied superiors (we communicated solely through e-mail and phone calls yesterday) gave the yes to leave, all the doors closest to where my car was parked...were locked. And the hallway lights were off except for a few courtesy lights.
I ended up using the door that faces the acres and acres of undeveloped (and unlit) woods behind the building.
The sad part is, as much as I was hyperaware of my surroundings, I was also geeking out over the whole situation. "Hot damn! Is there something hiding in the cubicle next to me? Can I kill it with a pen? Will I be able to make it past the file cabinets before the serial killer rips my head off? Most importantly, will the stiletto heel stabbing technique work?"