SkinBasket
12-18-2008, 08:39 AM
Almost anyway. Woke up at 1:30am because of the deep smoky smell in the air. Turned the lights on to general haze, so the wife and I decide to investigate. A brief inspection reveals the furnace room as the source. Smoke's billowing out of something, so we decide we should probably phone for some assistance on this one.
Call the fire department instead of 911 in hopes of avoiding a commotion. Couple minutes later a police officer shows up as we're taking the kids to the car. While he walks around the house, another cop pulls up and hangs out until the firetruck shows and blows his horn as he parks. As the wife pulls out to take the kids to the relatives, the street is looking like a patriotic rave party. Two more fire rigs roll in, repeating the "We're here!" blast of the horn. Two fire marshals or whoever the fuck the old guys who just watch from the comfort of their heated front seats pull up in pick-ups with flashy lights. Finally we got a volunteer in his Grand Am to join the party.
Very nice people. One was even an attractive young woman - not your usual lesbian firewoman. They tried to kick the snow off their boots before going in and later offered to have the new guy help clean the floor afterward.
Turns out whoever built our fireplace when the house was built 20 years ago decided to throw their garbage - cardboard, straw (wtf?), and assorted shims and pieces of metal) down into the ash pit. Well, it had been three days since our last fire, when the heavy winds came through at night, downdrafting hard enough to open the ash pit door and drop some hot coals in. Three days of smoldering later, they finally found their way to the collection of trash and voilà! we had a nice fire raging in our ash pit, filling the house with stank ass smoke.
Another reason why I have so much faith in the American union laborer. Always going that extra mile to make sure a job is done and done right. Unless that job is walking an extra 10 feet to a garbage can.
Call the fire department instead of 911 in hopes of avoiding a commotion. Couple minutes later a police officer shows up as we're taking the kids to the car. While he walks around the house, another cop pulls up and hangs out until the firetruck shows and blows his horn as he parks. As the wife pulls out to take the kids to the relatives, the street is looking like a patriotic rave party. Two more fire rigs roll in, repeating the "We're here!" blast of the horn. Two fire marshals or whoever the fuck the old guys who just watch from the comfort of their heated front seats pull up in pick-ups with flashy lights. Finally we got a volunteer in his Grand Am to join the party.
Very nice people. One was even an attractive young woman - not your usual lesbian firewoman. They tried to kick the snow off their boots before going in and later offered to have the new guy help clean the floor afterward.
Turns out whoever built our fireplace when the house was built 20 years ago decided to throw their garbage - cardboard, straw (wtf?), and assorted shims and pieces of metal) down into the ash pit. Well, it had been three days since our last fire, when the heavy winds came through at night, downdrafting hard enough to open the ash pit door and drop some hot coals in. Three days of smoldering later, they finally found their way to the collection of trash and voilà! we had a nice fire raging in our ash pit, filling the house with stank ass smoke.
Another reason why I have so much faith in the American union laborer. Always going that extra mile to make sure a job is done and done right. Unless that job is walking an extra 10 feet to a garbage can.