So I sustained a boo boo here Friday night/ Saturday morning, a boo boo that has left me unable to write as much, and while I could just apologize for my recent absence, I have decided rather to detail the events as best as I can without further injuring myself.
It’s Friday evening, and I have just gotten home from a raucous silent disco at one of Louisville many breweries. I spent what could have been a very lonely Valentines day dancing with strangers and chatting with some of the DJ’s who have been affectionately named The Pineapple Boys. It wound up being a fun time, but with the night having come to a close, I ventured back to my quiet abode to make a quesadilla. My apartment smells like lavender and tea tree oil. The tapestry of The Great Wave tosses gently on the far wall in the eddies of the air conditioning vent. My scallions stand proudly on the entertainment center, and all is well.
Then I hear the fire alarm. Lazy and buzzed, I trudge up to the neighbor directly above me on the third floor to do a wellness call. I knock once, and the door bursts open. Fire. Smoke. Screams.
She’s just screaming and gesticulating like a bird in a rattled cage. Her whole oven is on fire, and a wave of hot, dense air nearly knocks me over. I rush down to my apartment to get some baking soda in hopes of smothering the blaze, but once I arrive back at the inferno, I can tell that my scant bit of bicarbonate isn’t going to do more than mock the flames. So, I have the bright idea to, you know, pick up the grease filled pot that started the fire. Yeah. It was a terrible idea.
Flaming grease spills onto my right hand, and honestly, I don’t even feel it. I’m more alarmed at the vast amount of smoke that is filling the domicile. I leave the pot, call 911, and begin pounding on my neighbors’ doors. The fire department arrives after I manage to get everyone out, and the fire chief has the gall to reprimand me for going back into the complex several times to help evacuate the tenants, some of which are older and far less mobile. Sure, fire boy, I’ll just let this gaggle of old folks die of smoke inhalation when I am perfectly capable of entering and exiting the facility. Yeah, I may not have your fancy little get up, but it took you like ten minutes to get here.
Anyway, I’ve got like second degree burns all over my dominant hand, and it makes it kind of tough to type out anything substantial. As soon as I can muster the gumption, this Ghost will be right back to inoculate you with all the asinine things I have to say.
And you thought you had hot Valentines day…
Sorry, that was stupid.