I am about to embark on what I hope will not be my crowning achievement. Being
a frustrated writer, I have written the beginnings of countless masterpieces
- the trouble lies in completing these works of art. I don't know if I get bored
and move on to something else or truly lack the genius to go on. In any event,
I have been known in my short life span to tell many a humorous anecdote - usually
involving things that have gone awry in my day to day existence.
After relaying a particularly funny episode to a friend and coworker and after hearing for the umpteenth time "You should write these down." I have decided to do just that.
Let me preface this by saying that unfortunately everything contained herein is true - the names have remained the same to further humiliate the parties involved.
The Great Potato Fire of 1990
If ever there was a test case for Murphy's Law this had to be it...
Being a bachelor I am schooled in the art of cooking as a bachelor - this means never making a full course meal, rather one course is the norm. On this particular evening about midnight I had a craving for mashed potatoes.
Being a man cut in the true bachelor mold, I grabbed my box of instant mashed potatoes. Having mastered this bit of culinary delight long before, I skipped the reading of directions on the box and measured out the flakes. After only having to consult to box once I had the pot with water on the stove, the plastic measuring cup of flakes nearby and headed to the other room to wait for the water to boil.
Somehow in my rush to make this meal (which by bachelor standards had already taken too long), I had turned on the wrong burner. You guessed it, I had turned on the one on which my cup of flakes rested. From the other room I heard the most ear-wrenching squeal as the fire alarm went off. Sprinting to the kitchen, I spied the problem.
My dog Boomer was running in circles barking like mad and the fire alarm was still screaming at me as the large plumes of smoke gave way to a three foot high jet of flame where once my flakes rested. It was a sight an arson would have been proud of as the flames carried the flakes to the ceiling and gently showered them all over the kitchen.
Thinking quickly, I ignored the fire to shut off the obnoxious racket. I swatted hard at the fire alarm and found out just how cheaply they are stuck to the wall as it sailed across the room into a large glass of water spilling its entire contents onto the rug. The next mission was the fire.
I grabbed a dishtowel and not thinking to wet it, tried to smother the flames. I soon learned the error of my ways as I held (for a few seconds) a flaming dishtowel. I threw the towel aside (it was hot) - it hit a plate perched precariously on the edge of the counter sending it crashing to the floor in a hundred jagged pieces.
The excitement was too much for Boomer as he fled the kitchen running of course, directly through the shards. It was only a tiny wound but it bled as if he had lost a leg. Boomer yelped and trailed bloody pawprints across the living room carpet and disappeared into the bedroom.
By this
time I had dumped the pan full of water onto the fire extinguishing it. Deciding
that his place was at his master's side in time of need, Boomer limped back
into the room and sat down with his head cocked to the side with that look of
wonder that only a dog can give. This simple gesture led me to step back - in
fact, I sat down, hugged Boom and laughed aloud as flakes covered everything
and water dripped in large puddles from the stove. I had survived the Great
Potato Fire of 1990.
Dedicated to Boomer who passed via a Schwann's Deliver Van in 1991
© 1995 cdoelle@canistech.com