I was working at an internet news station that programmed stories for hipster, 20-somethings. There was an uproar in the newsroom because the World Trade Center had been hit. I’d only be to New York once before so I couldn’t see the building in my mind’s eye but then we turned on the television in time to watch the 2nd plane hit. Now I’ll never forget it.

The room was full of about 50 people and after the gasps and tears, we just stood there watching. I remember the moment I realized that the “things” falling from the side were actually people, jumping. I stood there, numb, mouth agape until the news director insisted I get on the phone and start calling experts, looking for someone to comment on the tragedy. I remember thinking, “Are you serious?”. But then I saw a hard veil separate her from emotion and a new glint in her eye, it was excitement because that’s all this was to her, another breaking news story.

Back in my office, I was struggling to keep it together, on the phone calling the universities, experts, anyone who I thought would have something to say to get them into the studio before we went to air. Suddenly I realized a co-worker was looking at me and that’s when I realized I was just sitting there — staring into space — feeling stupid and knowing that what I was doing was wrong, wrong for me.

I just watched a tragedy that defied words and I didn’t need to find a commentator to explain what we’d all just seen, people so terrified of what was happening to them that it was safer to die. If I knew I was going to die today, is this what I would be doing?

As if on cue, I got a call saying we were going dark that night, that people were going to look to national and US news for coverage, not to us for this story. “No sh*t,” I thought. But even then, the cancellation was more about how it would “look” if we covered it. A week later, I quit. What about you? Where were you on 9/11?