I have been taking a CERT training class for the past few weeks. This class is helpful in my ongoing “man maintenance” where I become (theoretically) more capable of self support in times of crisis. I got to put out a fire two weeks ago – with a fire extinguisher. How many times before that had I actually used a fire extinguisher in my life? ZERO.
When I was a kid, my father thoughtfully installed a small fire extinguisher into my my closet in my bedroom. I never used it – and rarely thought about it. My paranoia did not extend so much to fires. It was fully occupied with fear of monsters under my bed, ghosts/dead things/aliens in my closet, and how I would actually escape a fire from the second floor of my home. Yes, fire was involved, but my fear wasn’t of the fire – it was of breaking my legs jumping out the window. I recall at some point asking for a fold down ladder, but I was talked out of it. “Just hang on to the ledge and fall, you don’t need to jump”
Early on, my closet was a refuge from light when anxiously clutching a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur skeleton obtained from a box of Fruity Pebbles. Later, however, the small door that led from the closet to the attic taunted me with the fear that I might be dragged in there by something unimaginable. Having watched Creepshow, Poltergeist, and Close Encounters of the Third kind – I know it was possible.
The last time I checked the fire extinguisher, it was dead (never used). Just writing this brings back a memory of an “educational” film that they made us watch in elementary school (Parker if I recall). They were illustrating fire’s effect on blood. They heated up a hotplate and when it got nice and toasty dripped some blood on it. It spattered and boiled nicely (as expected). Shock therapy for budding pyromaniacs. It scared me, but never stopped me from burning matches endlessly.
I bought two fire extinguishers today. Home safety – yeah!