Hazards Of Apartment Living, Part 2,067

I’m staying over at a friend’s house because my apartment is filled with smoke.

There’s a short story and a long story. The short story is: my neighbor’s an idiot who started a huge grease fire and didn’t have a fire extinguisher – and didn’t ask for one, and didn’t call the fire department. I lent him mine and now we’re all alive and happy, but my apartment is still completely smoked out, and he’s still an idiot.

The long story: some details are embarassing. Basically, I was trying out a new “toy” from blowfish, and I smelled smoke. I thought the toy was melting or burning out, or something. But then I realized something was on fire.

I jumped up and peered out the window and saw smoke shadows coming from my neighbor’s.

I quickly threw some pants on and ran outside and spied on him. He was putting out a fire the size of a fucking Mine Cooper with a welcome mat.

I’m sorry, I need to repeat that. He was putting out a fucking fire. The size of a Mini fucking Cooper. With a mother fucking welcome mat.

I ran back inside and grabbed the phone, dialed 911 and hung up, grabbed the fire extinguisher, ran back outside, yelled, “Hey man, here’s a fire extinguisher!”

“No, I got it.”

“Take the fucking fire extinguisher!”

He puts out the fire with the extinguisher in .2 seconds.

He comes out coughing. “I was just heating up some grease.” He actually tries to socialize. I will spare you the details of the idiot’s post-fire-setting small talk.

I go back inside and my apartment is filled with smoke so thick, I can’t see more than a few inches in front of my face. I open all the windows, noticing for the first time that my window “screens” are ripped up, and turn on all the fans at full blast.

I get the phone, go to the parking lot, and call the only friend I think I can call at 1AM to ask, “Can I spend the night over at y’alls?” I’m facing a truck in the parking lot. “My neighbor just set some grease on fire.”

And as I say that, my eye rests on the truck, and I see them. About a dozen bullet holes.

I’m standing outside my fucking apartment with smoke and fumes spilling out of it like sleeping dragon’s breath and I’m staring at a bullet riddled truck.

I have to move out, y’all. I really do.

6 thoughts on “Hazards Of Apartment Living, Part 2,067

  1. Move out, yah, you’ve got a kid and all. But the drama is interesting! And you’re such a good storyteller. Sorry about the apartment, and so very glad it turned out OK. I was reading along, thinking – her son, her son, what happened? Then remembered he’s away for the summer. Whew.

  2. I must agree that that is a sweet story. However, perhaps you should move. Though just do not move to a neighborhood that you think will be better but then turns out to be worse. As i did this spring.

    I do love my new SF neighborhood though. Lots of gay men with small dogs and people carrying yoga mats.

    I can’t believe how gentrified I sound.

    But it’s better than getting catcalled and listening to gunfire in West O!

  3. For future reference, flour puts out grease fires quite well…

    …not that I would, um, know or anything.

  4. Move back to Kyle!

    Just joking, I know you don’t wanna come to no Kyle.

    But if you did we would take care of you.🙂

  5. leila…thanks for looking out. and for your concern about my kiddo. i’m so glad he wasn’t here to witness the debacle.

    oh,elka, how i love thee. i’m happy you likes the new hood!

    and thanks for the advice josie! i hope the next pyromaniac neighbor knows it.

    and michelle, i will move to kyle if my old trailer becomes available again. really!

  6. You can stay with me, bitch! And I know you love your hood, but, only 1 mile away is my apt. No bullets, functioning toilets, fire extinguishers, smoke detectors and screens. Come join me in the beehive.
    Boojoie Z

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