Meet the Neighbors
Moving into a new apartment complex is a big step. One has to change her address, car tags, voter’s registration, driver’s license, insurance, utilities, and (of course) her email signature.I have yet to complete this list, but assuming the government can’t find me to make me pay back my student loans, nyah nyah to them.
I am a slacker. I had been ensconced in my new location for about two weeks without meeting the neighbors until yesterday. Oh, I had seen them (one of the perks at living in a retirement community is being the hottest woman at the pool. I like to think I currently am beating Twin, but the no. 2 position is fine with me).
-The only difference at this pool is that all patrons under 30 lie in the chaise lounges in the sun, while the rest of the community has their chaise lounges in the shade.
Even though we had seen each other, and had planned on meeting at some point in the future, none of us foresaw the event that would bring the community, fire department, and maintenance man together in one lovely meet-and-greet.
Yes, you read that rightly.
It all went down yesterday. I had just finished a DIY dye job, applied Crest Whitestrips to my teeth, and stepped out of the shower and into my glasses and an ugly, fluffy pink robe when my doorbell rang (What? You think I look beautiful ALL the time?! -Well, then. Please come to my address as listed at the bottom of this email).
When I answered the door, it was a tiny, frail old woman with a sweet (if agitated) face. She asked if any of my appliances had been left on, because her house was filling with smoke. At this point I shoved Cat (who, having been sassed at by a squirrel through the window all day, had thought to go find revenge) back into the apartment, and asked if she had dialed 911. She had.
I then ran over to her apartment to find all doors and windows opened, so I closed them. I did not see where the smoke was coming from, but hoped the fire department would come soon (I probably should not have gone in… but her floorplan is identical to mine and I thought the apartment needed to be sealed).
The next arrival was the maintenance man, who went inside and thought perhaps her air conditioner motor had burned out (I thought not- not this spectacular array of smoke. I made him come back out. I pray I do not have any plumbing problems in the near future).
About 12 minutes after the initial call, the Fire Department swept in, with 3 trucks fully blaring and shining their lights. It was quite beautiful…. It was sort of a pity they missed the driveway. As they continued by, the three of us began waving and jumping up and down.
One of the firemen must have been alert, for suddenly that truck did an illegal U-turn as the others sought to turn around in various outlets along the road. That truck raced in, and after stopping, out jumped 3 firemen who ran up to me and asked what was wrong. “Well, sir, her apartment is on fire, sir.” (pointing accusingly at Neighbor, and then her apartment).
Oh, yes, I am glib in the face of danger.
-Actually, despite my appearance, I believe they thought I appeared the most capable. Additionally, apparently the eye-searing pink of the robe is what made them see us waving (um, thanks, Mom).
Once I successfully explained what had happened, they all ran in. About two minutes later, they ran out, with a trash can. They then ran in and out with pots of water that they emptied into the offending trash can, which continued to roll out smoke.
As far as kitchen fires go, it wasn’t the worst that could have happened. However, it had gotten to the point where they were happy that we had dialed 911, because we wouldn’t have been able to stop it. Especially when none of us could find where the fire had originated, it was so smoky inside.
Once this mess had been dealt with, (and a lecture on the dangers of smoking delivered with justifiable gusto by the local Fire Department) the Firemen politely provided an industrial-strength fan to air out Neighbor’s apartment.
Now that the sirens had sounded, the rest of the apartment community was roused. As I walked among concerned neighbors explaining that no one was ill, and that there was a mild trash fire, I introduced myself. (I was unofficially nominated to spread the word, as I walk very quickly and have a rather curt way with words when people start panicking).
That, and the bright pink robe made me a visible beacon.
The best part is that after the evening’s entertainment was over, my other neighbor roped the maintenance man into fixing her leak. He, sadly, does not have the direct way with words that I possess.
Oh, and you should see my hair.
posted by Jill @ 11:29 AM
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