And Knowing is Half the Battle

I lay in bed at night (not every night, but more than some), listening for crackling, sniffing for smoke. I worry about fire. I've never been in one, though I have been near a few (stupid flammable neighbors), so I don't know quite where my fear came from. I only half-jokingly blame it on A Very Special Webster episode in which the precocious little tyke burns down Ma'am and George's apartment with his chemistry set. I have lived with the guilt and fear of that fire as though it were my own.

Being one who lies in bed at night (lay or lie? That Snow Patrol song taught me nothing) devising various escape plans for our second story apartment (throw pillows and bedding out window to cushion fall), you'd think I'd know what to do when an ACTUAL FIRE breaks out.

Not so.

Today at work, the fish tank light was out and one of the dental chairs would not lift up and down. A fuse had blown over the weekend. Where to? The circuit breaker, of course. We flipped it back on and moments later we smelled the smell of fireworks and smoke started to emanate from the cabinet next to the fish tank.



Inside the cupboard a small fire had started. I didn't feel panicked, but I also had no idea what to do. "Should I get a bucket of water?" I asked, wanting to definitely stop the fire before it did make me panic. "NO!" Everyone shouted. Krissy ran for the extinguisher. Christy ran for towels.

I did nothing.

Now I know. And as G.I. Joe says, "Pork Chop Sandwiches!"

*Viewer Discretion Advised-- if you're at work, turn down your speakers... like WAY down.