On Sunday morning at 4 a.m., our Lower Queen Anne recycling bin was the victim of a ruthless, brutal torching. It didn't deserve it, the poor little guy.
I woke up to 15 foot flames that were spreading like wild fire, so to speak. It was another one of those moments lately where I haven't been so great under pressure. Brian had fallen asleep on the couch, so I shrieked his name and he stumbled over, muttered some expletives, and told me to call 911.
First he tried filling our kitchen garbage can with sink water but it didn't make a dent in the fire, and it was spreading fairly quickly amongst the leaves and brush. Then he remembered that we have this shoddy garden hose along the side of the building; luckily it was long enough to extend to the fire, and within 10 minutes or so, the fire had subsided.
As the fire was dying down, we heard the fire trucks drive right by our house. I ran down to the street and flagged them down.
Frat boy central! They ran up the hill to the fire and said things like, Dude!!!!!! One of the guys let us know that there's no way they'd ever be able to get a fire truck up my driveway. Plan B! They asked if they could borrow Brian's garden hose.
Once they stomped around on the embers for awhile, a couple of them started expanding upon the heretofore sophisticated conversation with small bits, such as, So this is 626, and next door is 630? Huh. Nice place you got up here, eh? This is great!
One time the station checked in on on us via walky talky: What up, man!?
Then one of the firemen turns to Brian and says, Second dumpster fire in this area tonight - do you think it's arson?
But being as he just finished up fighting the fire, he didn't have enough time to conclude his investigation.
What do you all think?
Oh, by the way, it's REALLY FREAKY to wake up to a fire blazing outside your bedroom window.
2 comments:
Awesome show of sportsmanship!
Was he in his underpants fighting this fire?
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