Fire in my house last night, caused by drunk roommate.
Around 10pm last night, my roommates Chantelle and Brian headed out for a few pints with their family friends. I fell asleep at 1am, but expected them back soon, since it was Sunday.
Well, at 3:55am I wake up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off, and the smell of burnt toast. Okay, so they got drunk and ate some burnt toast, I think, no biggie.
Well, come 4:30am the alarm is still going off sporadically, and I go downstairs to see if there really is fire. At this point there's smoke everywhere. I look in the living room, and Chantelle is spread out like a 5-point drunken star on the sofa, eye makeup everywhere, completely passed out. Smoke is billowing out of the kitchen, so I race in and check the oven.
One of my frozen pizzas has been charred to a crisp on 500 degrees in the oven, and as I open the door, flames flicker up. The pizza is actually curled upwards and black smoke is pouring from the oven door. I turn off the oven.
Since things are different over here, sometimes I need help with even simple tasks, like turning off a fire alarm that's designed differently. So I run back to the living room and shout to Chantelle, "Wake up, Chantelle!"
Though she's slept through a blaring alarm not 15ft away from her, I manage to wake her up and ask her to turn off the alarm. "You've left the oven on for 30 minutes. The pizzas on fire. What were you thinking?!"
This is what I get back.
"Don't you snap at me, Kerry."
In my head, I murder her on the spot. In real life, I told her to turn off the alarm, and she passes back out on herself.
So I ran up to ask Brian to help me, but he wouldn't get out of bed. In the end, I had to grab a chair and figure it out for myself, which took about 10 more mins of hovering underneath a screaming smoke alarm, smoke blanketing the ceiling around me, all at 4:30 in the morning.
I could have burned alive in my bed. This is the story you hear about someone lighting something or heating something while drunk and burning the house down.
It's the last straw! I swear!! Look, I don't use the blog to bitch, I don't, but this is unique. For those of you with whom I've shared other roommate anec dotes, you know that this has to be the straw that breaks the camel's back.
I'll try to put more cheery things on my mind and get myself out of this angry funk. But the pizza smoke stuck in my clothes, hair, purse, coat, everything I own...that's not making it any easier!!
I hope you had a good weekend! Please write and tell me about it--cheer me up!! I really need it today. :(
Around 10pm last night, my roommates Chantelle and Brian headed out for a few pints with their family friends. I fell asleep at 1am, but expected them back soon, since it was Sunday.
Well, at 3:55am I wake up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off, and the smell of burnt toast. Okay, so they got drunk and ate some burnt toast, I think, no biggie.
Well, come 4:30am the alarm is still going off sporadically, and I go downstairs to see if there really is fire. At this point there's smoke everywhere. I look in the living room, and Chantelle is spread out like a 5-point drunken star on the sofa, eye makeup everywhere, completely passed out. Smoke is billowing out of the kitchen, so I race in and check the oven.
One of my frozen pizzas has been charred to a crisp on 500 degrees in the oven, and as I open the door, flames flicker up. The pizza is actually curled upwards and black smoke is pouring from the oven door. I turn off the oven.
Since things are different over here, sometimes I need help with even simple tasks, like turning off a fire alarm that's designed differently. So I run back to the living room and shout to Chantelle, "Wake up, Chantelle!"
Though she's slept through a blaring alarm not 15ft away from her, I manage to wake her up and ask her to turn off the alarm. "You've left the oven on for 30 minutes. The pizzas on fire. What were you thinking?!"
This is what I get back.
"Don't you snap at me, Kerry."
In my head, I murder her on the spot. In real life, I told her to turn off the alarm, and she passes back out on herself.
So I ran up to ask Brian to help me, but he wouldn't get out of bed. In the end, I had to grab a chair and figure it out for myself, which took about 10 more mins of hovering underneath a screaming smoke alarm, smoke blanketing the ceiling around me, all at 4:30 in the morning.
I could have burned alive in my bed. This is the story you hear about someone lighting something or heating something while drunk and burning the house down.
It's the last straw! I swear!! Look, I don't use the blog to bitch, I don't, but this is unique. For those of you with whom I've shared other roommate anec dotes, you know that this has to be the straw that breaks the camel's back.
I'll try to put more cheery things on my mind and get myself out of this angry funk. But the pizza smoke stuck in my clothes, hair, purse, coat, everything I own...that's not making it any easier!!
I hope you had a good weekend! Please write and tell me about it--cheer me up!! I really need it today. :(
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