I set my kitchen on fire last night. And I had to call 911. And they came.
Three fire trucks, in their full flory. Lights swirling, horns wailing. In to Victoria Grand.
But they turned left instead of right and so 911 had to call me and say where are you miss jovanna? And I had to let the 911 man know, your little buddies turned left and they were supposed to turn right. After the gate, remember? But its okay because the fire is out mostly. Drew put it out. Like a big brave man. He took the pan that was on fire and put it in the sink. And then he beat the fire with the Christmas kitchen towel that missis stuy got us and the fire lost and so it was out.
So how’d it start anyway? The 911 man didn’t ask but everyone else did, including the fire captain.
Well, I was so excited about making pork chops with rice and black beans (wouldn’t you be?) last night. I came home from kickboxing and couldn’t wait. I showered and hit the kitchen.
Rice takes the longest so I started with that. My momma’s rice is the best. And it’s because she makes it different than most moms. So I try to make mine like hers. To do this, I heat up a small amount of oil in a pot. Usually, once the oil gets hot, I add the rice and stir it around to coat the rice. Then I add water.
Yesterday, I didn’t get past the oil in a pot part. I put the oil in the pot to let it heat up and a few minutes or seconds later (time warps in times like these), the smoke detectors started blaring and I turned to face my stove and it looked like the fires we’d make at Hayride. Only this wasn’t a fire pit. It was my kitchen and it was on fire.
Drew was on the couch and he didn’t notice until I cried out for him to do something (in a total victim-esque voice btw). While he worked on the fire, I shut my and Heathy’s bedroom doors and opened up all the windows.
Smoke was filling the common area really fast. I took my sucky Blackberry Storm (that I officially hate now) and ran outside to call 911. The touchscreen on that thing sucks and doesn’t work half the time and this time was one of those times. It wouldn’t recognize the touch of my fingers. I ran back inside and grabbed Drew’s BB Curve and dialed. By then, the fire was mostly out and my apartment was one big, thick cloud of black smoke. Drew and I sat on the trash cans outside while we waited. The whole neighborhood was outside. If there were three firetrucks and two fire SUVs outside my apartment, I’d come out too! I was mortified. I let everyone know “it’s not a big deal, I just set my kitchen on fire. Sorry for the noise.” Some neighbors even invited us over for dinner. We all had a good (nervous) laugh.
This story would not have turned out okay if Drew had not been there considering he put the fire out and I had to use his phone to call the fire department.
When the firemen came and asked my story, they asked who put the fire out. I told them Drew did.
They called Drewski a hero. My hero.