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911 is definitely *not* a joke
Dec. 21st, 2005 11:13 pmNor is 311. Nor, for that matter, is 462-1616 (the Fire Department's non-emergency line).
See, RM came home and said, "what's that smell?"
And I said what?
And he said, "It smells like something's burning."
You can kinda smell it in the kitchen (but there were no culinary exploits this evening), and you can really smell it at the top of the basement steps, so we wander down into the basement -- which has a decided stink like burning plastic.
We can't find a source, though. The cobweb attached to the light bulb isn't doing it. The hot water pipes are cool. The furnace is on, but looks innocent enough. It was checked out this morning, though, and while the checker-outer found nothing, maybe he dislodged something? Which could be an innocent debris something, or could be something that will kill us in our sleep.
It's almost 11 pm, and I *really* don't feel OK going to sleep with the smell of an unidentified burning something spreading through our home. (It's not quite as stupid as running into the woods after the psycho guy who has a cleaver, but it's close.) So we call the Fire Department's non-emergency number, and I explain that we're probably being silly, but there's a burning smell, and we're reluctant to go to bed without knowing what's causing it.
Next thing you know -- and I mean, really, Next Thing, like, not even five minutes later -- there are sirens. And lights. And a ladder truck. No, make that *two* ladder trucks, plus an SUV-looking thing. So we greet the firemen and show them down the steps to the basement.
And it's kinda like a clown car -- they just keep trooping down the steps; there are four or five checking out the (really not all that large) basement, and I can hear three (four?) more clumping around upstairs. So I go upstairs (yep, four) and look out the window and realize there are now at least *five* ladder trucks, plus that SUV, plus a van. It's reassuring, but also pretty mortifying. I go outside in my sock feet to explain to the neighbors what the heck is going on. (Mark asks me to mention how calm and relaxed -- nonchalant, even -- he was during all of this. "These are my people," he says.)
So anyhow, they do some readings (for CO in particular). According to the man with the meter, 35 ppm is bad, and 8 ppm is safe enough they can leave. We only have 2 ppm, so they leave. We're sleeping with the furnace off and the windows open tonight, though.
See, RM came home and said, "what's that smell?"
And I said what?
And he said, "It smells like something's burning."
You can kinda smell it in the kitchen (but there were no culinary exploits this evening), and you can really smell it at the top of the basement steps, so we wander down into the basement -- which has a decided stink like burning plastic.
We can't find a source, though. The cobweb attached to the light bulb isn't doing it. The hot water pipes are cool. The furnace is on, but looks innocent enough. It was checked out this morning, though, and while the checker-outer found nothing, maybe he dislodged something? Which could be an innocent debris something, or could be something that will kill us in our sleep.
It's almost 11 pm, and I *really* don't feel OK going to sleep with the smell of an unidentified burning something spreading through our home. (It's not quite as stupid as running into the woods after the psycho guy who has a cleaver, but it's close.) So we call the Fire Department's non-emergency number, and I explain that we're probably being silly, but there's a burning smell, and we're reluctant to go to bed without knowing what's causing it.
Next thing you know -- and I mean, really, Next Thing, like, not even five minutes later -- there are sirens. And lights. And a ladder truck. No, make that *two* ladder trucks, plus an SUV-looking thing. So we greet the firemen and show them down the steps to the basement.
And it's kinda like a clown car -- they just keep trooping down the steps; there are four or five checking out the (really not all that large) basement, and I can hear three (four?) more clumping around upstairs. So I go upstairs (yep, four) and look out the window and realize there are now at least *five* ladder trucks, plus that SUV, plus a van. It's reassuring, but also pretty mortifying. I go outside in my sock feet to explain to the neighbors what the heck is going on. (Mark asks me to mention how calm and relaxed -- nonchalant, even -- he was during all of this. "These are my people," he says.)
So anyhow, they do some readings (for CO in particular). According to the man with the meter, 35 ppm is bad, and 8 ppm is safe enough they can leave. We only have 2 ppm, so they leave. We're sleeping with the furnace off and the windows open tonight, though.