A Fire, An Electrical Shock, and... I’m Afraid to Use the Oven (Part 1)

It happened Monday night. It was a cold day, not unlike most winter occasions, although the sun had chosen to shine and the descent cast the kitchen in a warm pink glow. I opened the oven to check for wayward pans put there in an attempt to create a cleaner kitchen. It was empty, so I turned the dial anticipating the heat it would bring to the cold room.

Dinner was going to be a simple affair, soup and biscuits, and I was getting ready to mix them up and create little flour clouds. The short person had contented herself with watching Hi-5 and I had on Law and Order SVU in the kitchen. It was the type of show that distracted you from the start and I paused in my biscuit preparation to make sure that I had a grasp on the beginning plot line.

I didn't get far.

I kept smelling an odd odor, like that of something getting too hot. I checked the stove top to make sure that a pan was not on the oven's exhaust pipe which is located on the back right burner. Nothing. I knew I had checked the oven and there was nothing inside, so I wandered around the house looking to see if something had gotten too close to one of the wall heaters. Again, nothing.

Returning to the kitchen, I decided to double-check the oven. Perhaps, I thought, I had missed something. Opening the oven door, I was greeted with momentary blackness as plumes of smoke burned their way through my nostrils, but soon after the orange glow of a fire steered it's way into my senses.

My oven was on fire!

Adrenaline pumped its way through my blood stream and I looked around the kitchen for something to put it out as it grew from the size of an apple to the size of a mixing bowl in diameter and became about a foot tall. We had gotten rid of the fire extinguisher, so that option was gone. I thought about a towel, but discarded that when I realized that it would catch fire before I could beat it out. Flour... I could get flour, and I should probably call someone!

911 came to mind, but since I know half the people on the Fire Department and they were all congregated for a meeting with the other half that I did not know I discarded the idea of dialing for 5 fire trucks for a fire the size of a basketball largely contained in my oven... I'd never live it down. My husband! He'd know what to do!

So, I turned off the oven, slammed the door shut, and ran into the bedroom to get my cell phone, assuring the short person that I would get her some juice in just a second as I breezed through the living room.

I made it to the office, found my purse, and fished through the contents for the phone, all the while thinking to myself that it was taking far too long to find the thing and the house was going to burn down while I was trying to call my husband. Finally, my hand closed around the smooth, cool surface of the phone and I pulled it free, flipping it open as I walked quickly back to the kitchen.

The fire was still the size of a mixing bowl and still contained in the oven.

"Hey, Baby... What's up?"

"Okay, the oven's on fire. What do I do? Do I throw flour on it?! What do I do? I need to know what to do!"

"The oven's on fire?"

"Yes!! WHAT DO I DO?!"

"What do you mean the oven's on fire? Where's the fire?"

I'm silently cursing at my husband as I explain that there is a fire in the oven. I turned it on, opened it, a lot of smoke came out, and now, it is on fire.

"Why would you throw flour on it?"

"Because that's what they say to do. Throw flour on it. So, do I?"

"Well... beat it with a towel."

"What? Honey, if I beat it with a towel, the towel will catch on fire and then we're in even bigger trouble. I don't want to beat it. Won't the flour work?"

"Well, did you turn the oven off?"

Sigh, "DUH! Yes, I turned it off."

"Well... did you shut the door?"

"Yes, the door is shut."

"Oh, well, then don't worry about it. It will go out. A fire needs oxygen to burn and if the door is shut it won't get oxygen."

Somewhere in my brain I adopted this as logical and accepted it. The door was shut. Okay. My hands were still shaking from the adrenaline as I asked where he was and how long before he would be home before hanging up the phone.

I set the phone on the counter and leaned back against it watching what was still a rather large fire burn in my oven. It will go out, I thought to myself. Okay. Go out. Out. We need outage, people!

Anytime now.

Now?

Short person started yelling at me for juice, so I turned my attention to that, found a cup and poured juice into it. I turned back to the oven. Nope. Still going. Found a lid. Screwed it on. Turned back. Still going. I brought the cup to her and walked back to the kitchen. The fire was down to the size of a baseball.

I decided to see if I could catch up to the plot of my show. My heart beating crazily as it received the adrenaline rush that already made its way through my arms and legs and left them shaking. Five minutes later the fire was out and I'd forgotten about dinner.