The Fire That Almost Was
The morning started out like many other mornings. I had more than one thing to do and was getting around. I had an appointment to get the oil changed in my truck, and I had a nice clod roast I needed to cook. Before I got ready, I had taken the time to set up the slow cooker to do its magic for the next six hours. Dinner was going to be great.
I laid out the clothes I was planning to wear, then peeled out of my sweats. I was ready to duck into the bathroom, and was a little irritated when the hallway and back half of my house was filled with a screeching racket. The smoke alarm must be running low on battery power.
But wait. I’d changed those batteries when we went from Daylight Savings Time into Standard Time last fall. What in the world is going on? The irritating noise continued persistently.
I stepped into the hall to investigate. A literal wall of smoke advanced toward me. This wasn’t just a little haze. It was thick, dense, and was rolling along the ceiling. The smoke alarm was working fine. It had done exactly what it should’ve done.
Because I live alone, going into the kitchen wearing nothing but a worried look, isn’t an unheard-of occasion. I hurried toward the kitchen, and was startled to see flames from the stove area. This wasn’t a little flame, but a vigorous column of fire. I couldn’t determine what was burning, but something was hot on the stovetop.
I grabbed a handful of kitchen towels, thinking I might be able to smother it by covering the source and starve it of heat and oxygen. That didn’t even slow it down. I pulled the towels back and dropped them on the floor. Now what?
Then I remembered the fire extinguisher I’d seen under the sink, still in the box, pushed all the way to the back, “… because we’ll probably never need it.” It was one of those purchases we occasionally make. We know we ought to have one, confident it will get dusty waiting to be used. We hope.
I still had no idea what had caused the fire. The first thing to do was to keep this determined column of flame from igniting the cabinets, and extending into the attic. Dressed as I wasn’t, I realized if I lost the opportunity to control this conflagration on my stove, I’d be forced to evacuate the house, whether I was clothed or not.
I grabbed the extinguisher box, tore it open. I jerked out the device, pulled the pin, and pointed it at the fire. I was more than a little relieved when a gust of powder blasted from the nozzle and onto the base of the flames.
This caused the fire to pause. Then I discovered the right front burner on my electric stove was glowing red hot. I had somehow turned the burner to high before I left the kitchen to go take a shower.
With a quick twist, I turned the burner off. Briefly unattended, the tower of fire, roared back into action. Though only a few inches wide, the column of fire licked hungrily at the bottom of the cabinets overhead. I had only a few seconds before I would be forced to evacuate the house. I turned my attention back to squirting powder at the base of the fire to control the flames.
I was relieved when the fire was successfully suppressed by the extinguisher. One little flicker stubbornly remained. With one final puff, it too succumbed to the powder. The fire was out.
Now that the danger was over, I went into the hall and silenced the screeching alarm. I pulled on some clothes and returned to survey the damage, and started the cleaning process. Of course, there was powder on everything.
The upper half of the air all the way through my home was stinky smoke. Doors and windows were opened, and a couple of fans started clearing it out.
By placing the slowcooker on the stove-top because of a convenient plug, I’d caused the knob for the right front burner to be turned too high. I assumed the burner ignited the kitchen towel draped nearby. I assumed that was what was burning. I’d thrown the charred remains in the trash as I vacuumed up dust and tried to clean up the mess.
When it was time to feed the dogs, I went to look for their little blue bowls. These are nice heavy plastic, six inches in diameter and probably two inches deep. I couldn’t find them.
I knew they’d probably been put someplace safe as I worked quickly on controlling the fire. I also realized that under pressure, I could’ve put them any place.
I looked in the pantry. I opened both freezers. Still puzzled, I couldn’t find the bowls anywhere. I fed the dogs out of soup dishes.
I’m most grateful for a working fire alarm, and that I’d bought a fire extinguisher, even though I was quite sure I’d never use it. If I’d gotten into the shower, those few minutes could have easily endangered my survival.
In the middle of the night, I woke around 2 a.m. Thinking back over the previous afternoon, I suddenly realized what had happened to the dogs’ dishes. I’d gotten lazy, and stored them on the stove top. Even though the stove works fine, I seldom use it. I cook every day, but use different counter-top appliances, such as the slow-cooker which was preparing my roast.
The pair of innocuous, heavy-plastic dog bowls were the source of my fire. Sitting on top of the burner, they’d melted and liquified. Since plastics are nothing but oil with hardeners, the bowls became a hot column of oily flame.
Needless to say, even though it’s unusable, now the stove has nothing stored on it. I still won’t use it for daily cooking, but it’s clutter-free. I haven’t bought any new dog dishes yet though.
If you’ve read of my experiences, and have decided you need a smoke alarm and a fire extinguisher, you ought to drop by 875 West Olive Avenue. I’m quite sure Weisenberger Hardware has both in stock.