Sunday 27 October 2002

Pic of the day: I did not cut out the bottom of this plastic box. It melted on the stove. By accident. Almost set fire to the house, too. Sounds fun? Read all about it ...

Kitchen meltdown

Around 18 (6PM) I put some water on the electric stove to cook dinner. After a while I noticed that there was a burnt smell that isn't there usually. Probably some crumbs were lying too close to the heat, I thought. But a bit later, I wondered why the slight hiss of first contact had not developed into the familiar bubbling of boiling water. I went over, and was surprised to find that the water wasn't even hot.

It turned out I had by mistake turned on the wrong heating unit, one that had not been used for years. And which was therefore, at the moment, covered by a plastic box with paper in it. The plastic had melted over the hot plate; the paper was smoldering with orange embers. Some seconds later, and the whole thing would have erupted into open flame. Instead, I moved the offending objects to the kitchen sink, which is of metal. Gray smoke kept rising from the liquid plastic still puddled on the stove, and I filled my hand with water and sloshed on it. Now a larger cloud of mixed vapor and smoke rose and quickly filled the room. It smelled all funny and chemical, not like wood smoke. I felt strange, kinda half dizzy. I opened a window. I put on some clothes (I had come from the shower and was only wearing socks and a T-shirt yet) and rapidly removed myself from the interior of the apartment. That is too say, I ran out of there as quickly as I could.

I waited outside until I did not feel woozy and my heart had slowed down to near normal speed. I ran in and opened another window in the other end of the apartment; it was a windy day, so this was quite effective. I waited, checked in now and then, put on more clothes and a pair of shoes. When things seemed otherwise safe, I took a long walk. There is still a faint smell in here, but hardly a health hazard.

Also an improbably large fly decided to come in through the open window. How she got news of the recent opening, I do not know. She was flying around me making a nuisance of herself, so I went to the bathroom, then slid out and closed the door. Now she can stay there and think about her decision, and I'll stay here and think about mine.

Intriguingly, I had written on an entry about Cassandra (perhaps I'll put that up another day, if any) and the uncertainty of the future. Here is the last paragraph that was saved before I was interrupted:

I like to think that there is a God. But right now, it seems we are pretty much alone at home. And if we set fire to the curtains it won't help to sit down and cry for Daddy; we have to put it out ourselves.

***

Well, one lesson from this is to not store flammables on potentially hot stoves, even if you don't plan to use that part of the stove. I guess most people don't do that already. But I don't calculate with myself making errors in such matters. I may not be perfect, but I'm sure supposed to be perfect enough to use an electric stove. Now that leaves me with a profoundly disturbing question:

If I cannot trust my own hand to not kill me, then who or what can I trust?

Oh well, it could have been worse ... but somehow it is not quite so funny when it is real.