Oh, chimney fires....

I was driving to work this morning thinking about what my life had been like a couple of years ago and saw a fire truck go by. No lights, no sirens, just meandering along. I found myself laughing.

I believe it was New Years of 2007*. I had a friend over crashing at my place, and I had fallen asleep on my living room sofa, as I did quite frequently at that time. My friend had started a fire in my wood burning stove, and everything was all cozy, cheerful, and warm. I remember waking up briefly in the middle of the night and seeing the room completely choked with smoke. I was vaguely alarmed for a minute until I saw my friend busily doing something at the fireplace. Oh, he's got it handled, I thought, and immediately fell asleep again.

The next morning everything seemed to be fine. My friend took off to run to the store, and I started picking up a bit - my place was a pit, as usual. I was in the dining room when I caught a whiff of smoke. I shot a glance at the stove. It sat there, innocuous as ever, doing its best to look completely innocent. I wasn't fooled. I marched over and pulled open the door.

There was no fire, not even any residual burning embers, but the inside of the stove was filled with smoke. I slammed the door closed and glared at it for a long moment. Don't you dare, I thought at the stove. This is unacceptable. Reluctantly I pulled the door open. Smoke flowed out into the room, and I slammed it closed again. I grabbed some shoes and walked outside to look up at the chimney. There was definitely smoke. Not just a little bit of smoke. There was billowing smoke.

I did some creative swearing, Fire Fear** suddenly raging full force. I knew it had to be a chimney fire, and I was furious. I knew the chimney had been cleaned and inspected less than a year before - there was no reason for anything to be catching fire up there. It was a good thing there were no visible flames, or I may have had a panic attack and fainted before I was able to call anyone.

And of course the first person I called was my friend. "You need to get back here right now!" I shrieked into the phone when he picked up. "This is your fault!"

"What?!" he asked, confused and alarmed.

"Just get back here!" I snapped, voice still shrill. I hung up the phone and waited outside until his car pulled into my driveway a couple minutes later. He got out of his car, and I stabbed a pointed finger towards the chimney.

"What?!" he asked again.

"What do you mean, WHAT?" I cried. "LOOK! There's smoke! There shouldn't be smoke! Something's on fire, and you're calling the fire department, because this is your fault! You're the one who wanted a fire last night!"

He cringed, knowing about my fire fear, and wisely didn't argue with me, even though in retrospect I was possibly overreacting. "Okay, okay."

I followed him inside and watched as he checked inside the stove, then called 9-1-1. "This isn't an emergency," he said calmly to the operator, "but we've got a bit of a chimney fire going here..."

I had calmed down a bit now that the situation was being handled, and suddenly was struck by a deep horror. Firemen. Were coming here. To my house. And it was a mess. I exploded into action, attacking the pile of stuff on the dining room table.

My friend watched me, bewildered. "What are you doing?"

I gave him in incredulous look. "My house is a mess!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah.... it's always a mess."

"I know. But there are strangers that are going to be walking around in here! Firemen, for God's sake! Come on, help me clean!"

My long suffering friend helped me clean as much as we could in the few minutes it took the fire department to arrive.

And oh yes, they made quite an entrance.

I live on a tiny, quiet little dead end street in a duplex. So when the fire trucks came roaring into the neighborhood, lights on and sirens going full force, it drew some spectators. Including my new neighbors living in the other side of the duplex whom I hadn't had a chance to meet properly. After assuring them that no, our duplex wasn't going to burn to the ground, and hi by the way, I'm Becca, I went inside to watch the firemen.

One of them was hot. And by hot I mean really hot. And after a moment, I realized I recognized him. He looked at me and gave me one of those funny little smiles that said he recognized me but couldn't quite place who I was. I had met him once and instantly lusted after him - he had dated a crazy former co worker for a couple of weeks. He was responsible. He owned a beautiful house. He was gorgeous. And did I mention that he was a fire fighter? Uh, sexy?! And now he was here. In my house. My messy looks-like-a-hurricane--and-a-tornado-had-its-way-in-here house. Putting out a chimney fire. Looking at me with my tangled hair, sloppy sweat pants, and ratty t-shirt.

I listened to one of the older men tell me I need to have the chimney cleaned and inspected again before using the wood stove, waited until they had all filed out of my house and driven away, then did a face plant into my dining room table.

"No more fires in the wood stove," I told my friend. "Not ever."



*I could definitely be wrong about this... I have a terrible memory for past dates. But I'm pretty sure it was '07... except maybe it was '06.... damnit.

** I am so paranoid about fire it's not even funny. Before I go to bed I wander around and make sure everything electronic that emits heat is unplugged. I run my hands over the stove burners to make sure they're off because I don't trust the knobs. I sleep with a fire extinguisher next to my bed. No, I'm not kidding.