Back in April, I had a small setback in which I accidentally set an oven on fire in my friend's dorm room. The oven was fine, there was no real damage, and everyone was safe and because of that, it became a good joke. It seemed like the perfect "haha don't let Jaclyn anywhere near your oven" joke—a good college story I can tell the kids one day.
Well guys, get out the popcorn because I have another story.
So my good friend Ellie just moved back to the city yesterday and moved into her beautiful apartment in Wrigleyville. I went over there to offer moral support and my expert picture hanging skills but we were interrupted by collective hunger pains. Homemade pizza seemed like a solid option and we set about preheating the oven and rolling out the dough.
Then things started to get weird. There's no overhead vent on the oven so there was a little bit of smoke. That didn't seem out of place but then the smoke got blacker and started filling up the kitchen.
Thought process:
Okay so that's not normal. I know enough about ovens to understand that doesn't happen normally.
And then Ellie noticed the flames. Oh, this is starting to feel familiar.
So we started hunting for the cat, calling 911, and running outside. On our way down we practically threw ourselves against the neighbor's door. Well if they didn't notice the smoke or hear the alarms yelling "fire" in an oddly detached voice, they were oblivious and couldn't be helped.
Poor Tigger was shut in the basement laundry room in an obviously panicked state. You're a cat. You moved from your home yesterday. The train goes right by your new home and it's super loud and oh yeah, now you're being tossed into a strange place after a lot of shouting happened. I don't know if I could deal with all that without curling into a ball or throwing up. Tigger did neither so kudos to her.
In an amazing show of speed and city life, the Chicago Fire Department was at the door within four minutes. They were met by three terrified 19 year olds on the verge of tears but also armed with smartphones to take pictures of the three firetrucks that accompanied them and immediately post them to social media. Millennials are weird.
In the end, a wall was torn open, the blinds were partially melted, there is a new stove already ordered, everyone and the cat was safe and the kitchen was being cleaned by professionals. There is still a rolled-out pizza dough sitting on the kitchen island. I wouldn't recommend tasting it though. Mmm, soot and raw dough, my favorite!
I also want to make it very clear that I had no hand in starting this fire except for having a craving for pizza.
Also, the universe has a weird sense of humor. Seeing as the kitchen is currently out of commission, I volunteered to go out and grab sandwiches. As I sat down at the counter of a diner a few blocks away after ordering, Billy Joel's classic We Didn't Start The Fire started playing.
This summer is one for the record books ladies and gentlemen.
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