I’m Not a Pyromaniac, Really

someone just played my mixtape

someone just played my mixtape

Emily Rose Wieman, Editor

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My life experience with fire has in one word been interesting. I guess it all started simply… One day my brother set fire to our microwave because he forgot to put water in the Ramen noodles he was making. You’re probably thinking that’s not that bad at all. Well, hold up, I am only getting started.

The next time a fire started, it was because of a match. Someone who shall remain nameless threw away a match without letting it fully cool down. This led to my whole family waking up at 2:00 am to a fiery trashcan sitting in the middle of our bathroom, and this by itself isn’t that bad… What is sad about this is my whole family just stood around watching it like people surround those trashcans on the side of the road on a cold night until finally five minutes later that I got the bright idea to say, “Maybe we should put this out…”

It was not until a year later that the fire struggles began again. My mom spilled oil in the bottom of our oven and forgot about it until she started to make dinner and flipped on the oven. Inside of our oven was a nice little blaze and once again my family did nothing but watch it until the fire alarm went off and decided then was a good time to extinguish it before our whole house caught aflame.

This last story is one I still feel bad about. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I wanted some cookies. Great way to start a story. I know. Anyway I flipped the oven switch on and noticed a spark at the bottom of our oven that quickly began getting larger. It hit me that my oven was about to explode. So I ran past my family and my dog to get out the door. I realized that I had left my family in my house to die in a fire and went back to the door and shouted, “The oven is about to explode!”

Long story short, the oven did explode, but not enough to do any damage. The only actual damage is that now my family believes I would leave them alone in a burning building.

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