I spent a week in pre-menses hell and finally the dams broke Wednesday early in the afternoon. In fact, my sister and I began menstruating at the same exact time. She wouldn’t be amused that I’m sharing that bit of trivia, but she’ll forgive me. Happy Period, Katie and Kerri!
My sister and I met in front of our buildinks at 4ish so we could run a few errands. I walked out of my aptula and smelled/saw smoke, and lots of it wafting from the back of the building through the roof. Hmm, I thought. That’s curious. It smells like burnt popcorn, or does it smell like hair and I’m having a massive heart attack in 5, 4, 3, 2…?!
Kerri said, “We need to call the fire department.” I said, “Wait, hang a mo, let me do some fact checking first. I’ll head up the stairs and see what’s doing.” I went up the stairs and the smoke was even worse. This was not a good sign. My sister was standing by the front door repeating, KATIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? KATIE, ARE YOU THERE? KATIE, COME DOWNSTAIRS. KATIE, KATIE, KATIE. It was all very stop-drop-and-roll and way too overly dramatic, but cute.
I ran into my apt, grabbed my dead dog and my laptop and put everything in the trunk of my car. Ker called 911. Still unconvinced, I felt it was best to take a more reserved approach and called the fire department’s non-emergency number. I explained what was going on and said, “I don’t want to be an alarmist, so let’s chat about what’s happening and maybe you can send a man out to assess the situation. She instructs me to pull the fire alarm (which the building does NOT have) and start knocking on doors to evacuate. Evacuate?! Fabulous! I avoid the majority of my neighbors and now I have to start evacuating?!
So much for calling the non-emergency number…Within 5 minutes, 4 fire trucks and 20, TWENTY firedames and firedicks were in front of my building. The street was blocked off and chaos ensued. They started busting down doors to find the source. It was a 16-act drama, children.
There was a fire in the alley because one of my douche neighbors burned two fucking bags of fucking popcorn and tossed them into the fucking alley bin and it started a fucking fire.
My campy, let’s-throw-a-tea-party-proper-lady neighbor (love ha) walks out of her apartment in a suit, hair done and fresh lipstick ready for her close-up being saved by any firedaddy of doom. So shameful.
So, wait, it gets bettah... Slumlord calls me screaming because there's no fire alarm in the building, which is illegal (by the by) and then has the nerve to get pissy with me for calling the fucking fire department—HI—SMOKE EVERYWHERE. I do believe we made the right decision, yes?! Yes!
In the meantime, I’ve decided I need to create a fire-to-go-bag as a just in case.