Who wants to go to McDonalds?!

This blog post starts out with a story from my childhood...

Once when I was a young girl (sorry, Dad, for telling this story), Dad was left in charge to feed us kids. I don't remember where Mom was - important meetings? being a nurse?...who knows. So Dad started to cook something he knew - boiled chicken, possibly with rice. He put the pot on the stove, filled with warm water and a giant chicken breast. With dinner started, he went to hang out with the kiddos. Just set it and forget it, right? We were playing Nintendo (probably) and Dad said the 6 most coveted words to kid ears: "Who wants to go to McDonalds?" What kid could refuse that?! We all piled into the van covered in Aquabat stickers and made our way to McDonalds. The most magical place on Earth...

We sat and talked and wolfed down cheeseburgers and when we returned home, we were horrified to find opaque white clouds billowing out our windows and doors. THE CHICKEN! We called the fire department; they found Nacho hiding deep under a bed, scared out of her mind; and they helped us air out the place. Boy was that embarrassing and pot-ruining.

And now this blog post moves quickly a story of tonight...

Tonight, after a hearty meal of rice and beans, Kelly and I are hanging out - he's playing the electric guitar and I'm backing him up with some sweet, sweet bass licks when we hear a knock on our door. Our first thoughts are We made the neighbors mad. What time is it anyway? It's only 8... We open our door to find our upstairs neighbors, the only people we know in our ward.

We looked confused and they looked even more confused, "Are you guys hearing your neighbor's fire alarm?"

Nope. We hadn't heard a thing. We'd been playing our sweet, sweet bass licks too loud.

"It's been going off for a while and no one is home and their car is gone..."

Oh...

So, me being the brave lady that I am, I went right ahead and called 911. I'm not playing around with some "non-emergency police" numbers or "after hours emergency maintenance". I'm going right to the source. I stated the problem and the lady said she'd send the fire department out.

And oh, did they come:

"Get the ladder"

"I definitely smell smoke in there."

"Get in there, don't worry about the screen."

"Or the blinds"

"Need help with that hose?" - Kelly being a firefighter for the day.

Turns out the neighbors had made the age old mistake: leaving something cooking on the stove. I hope they were at McDonalds enjoying their evening. They have yet to come home and find their screen with a fist hole, their house reeking of smoke, and their once potential meal burnt to a crisp.

And that's why you never start to make food and decide to go to McDonalds instead.