I'm an archivist, but at times I'm also a facilities gal, too.
This is a pile of earplugs necessitated by the guys who are tiling around the front door of our space.
The only way to get out of the building and to the taco truck for lunch is through the back stairwell and through the bowels of the first floor (think of a more well-painted version of that early scene from Spinal Tap).
Meanwhile, our building engineer has the HVAC guys doing our regular service while he replaces lightbulbs in the suite.
The front door, propped open for the tile guys, is sounding an alarm whose pitch I identified as A440.