The First Time I Ever Used a Fire Extinguisher

I just moved into a new apartment. My one deal breaker was that I wanted washer/dryer hookups and my one nice-to-have was a fireplace. This little jewel had both. At my old house, we had a fireplace, and since Biff is allergic to her own hands, we used those "Lasts Up To 4 Hours!" starter logs instead of real firewood. And on moving day, we had one log left, which was kindly left in my possession and traveled to my new digs.

It is 107 degrees outside at midnight in Austin, Texas. Well, not that hot, but close enough. But on the fateful day I used a fire extinguisher for the first time, it was a CHILLY 82--and I had just bought a copy of Southern Living with a very fall-ish apple pie on the front--and I just wanted to make my apartment cozy, ok?

So I decided, hey, screw the man and his temperature rules and oppressive ideals of appropriate fire-making weather, I'm a strong Latino woman and I'll do what I want! So I checked the flue.

Me: that's weird--there's no flue lever?

Invisible Studio Audience: You idiot, there's always a lever. Keep looking.

Me: Hmm...I guess it's some sort of apartment safety measure--maybe the flue is defaulted to always be open and I don't have to do anything?

Invisible Studio Audience: WERE YOU BORN YESTERDAY?!?!?!

Me: Ok, I'll go ahead and light it and stand here for a sec to make sure the apartment doesn't fill up with smoke.

Invisible Studio Audience: No.


So that's exactly what I did. I lit that red paper bag on fire and watched it burn for a solid two minutes. The three separate flames I ignited slowly burned horizontally until they became one massive, log-engulfing flame. I stood back, stared at my fireplace, took a picture, and texted it to my friends. I even Facebooked my fire with the caption, "Don't judge me." I had an escalating number of "likes" and "comments" as I walked into the kitchen to keep making dinner. A few minutes later, while my food was cooking, I came out to sit on the couch and see how many people on Facebook thought I was the coolest person alive for making a fire in September. Except, I never got to the couch because my living room was drowning in a cloud of thick, grey smoke. Hey guys! The flue wasn't open after all!

So I stood there, staring at my bad decision as my two smoke detectors proved their batteries' worth. I calmly and mentally revisited my tenure as a Girl Scout. "Don't throw water onto a fire because it can make it worse." So because I was never a part of the Talented and Gifted program, I considered throwing a towel over it. But alas, the lessons of my youth confirmed that throwing a towel into the fireplace would inevitably burn the complex to the ground. And then God, not Oprah, gave me an "ah-ha moment": my new management office has provided me with a state of the art (probably not) fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink. FINALLY! All those years of fulfilling the Facilities Management aspect of my job by checking fire extinguishers at work had led me to this moment!

I approached the fire, my porous lungs filling like waffles with smokey syrup, and I pulled the trigger. POOOOOOFFFFFF, a Lost-worthy billow of smoke rolled out of my no longer pristine fireplace. But there were still flickers of life--like that slow blink in a deer's eyes when it's not quite dead. I pulled the trigger again. POOOOOOOFFFFFF, the second blow killed it.

I stood back, and stared at my fireplace yet again. This time, though, I felt no compulsion to text my friends or post a picture to Facebook. Proud that I'd conquered, but ashamed that I'd instigated, I quietly opened all the windows and doors, and began sweeping up the foam from the first time I ever used a fire extinguisher.