art in a day's work: August 2015

Last night I was out to dinner with friends. We talked a lot. It got late. Hubs called at 9:40. I figured he was checking in to make sure I was still alive. He wasn't. He wanted to know if I had noticed a burning smell in the girls' room. I told him that I hadn't and continued hanging out way too long with my friends. We finally left after closing down the restaurant, standing on the sidewalk, then lingering in the parking lot. I stopped to get gas and milk. I shouldn't have. It really did smell like something was burning in the girls' room. Poor hubs had already disconnected the light, unplugged everything that had a cord, settled the girls in another room, turned off the power, gotten them glow sticks, climbed up in the crawl space, checked all the outlets, and touched every inch of the ceiling and walls to see if they were hot.

I didn't know what else to do, so I just re-did everything he had already done. We couldn't find anything. So I did what no one ever should do in a situation when they are at all worried about something- I got on the internet. In less than five minutes I was convinced there was a wall fire smoldering behind our insulation that had been caused by an Ozone producing arc. All the signs were there, except for the warm spot somewhere on the wall. So, taking that major point into consideration, I decided I shouldn't be too worried. But then I read about that one case where someone in a random thread about what electrical fires smell like said his sister had noticed a strange smell, found nothing hot, and then three days later her house burst into flame. So there could be a fire smoldering in my wall that isn't hot and that I won't find until it bursts out into the house?!?! Great. I think deep down I only sort of believed this, because I found myself searching again in the room. Finding nothing, I thought I'd be smart and open the window for a while to let things air out, then close the window and door and see if the smell came back. The results were inconclusive. The smell was not stronger, but it was still lingering in the air, but still only in the girls' room.

So, well after midnight I climbed into bed. I was feeling pretty calm at that point. I had been praying that God would show us something specific if there was anything we needed to be concerned about and got nothing. So I was trying to rest in that and I headed to bed. But I must confess here that I slept with my bra on just in case we ended up having to make a quick escape in the middle of the night. I'm sure I wouldn't have thought about being bra-less if I had been woken up in the middle of any other night by the smoke detector, but since I had the benefit of planning ahead here, I took it. I slept for a couple of hours and woke up with a start at 2:30 trying my best in that super confused just-woke-up-with-a-start mind to figure out if our house was on fire. It wasn't, but I got up to recheck all the outlets, walls, and the ceiling in the girls' room for heat. No heat. So I went back to bed and slept until the 6:30 alarm rang.

Out of the gate, I decided to do another open the window, air out the room test. This one did not deliver the results I had hoped for. The smell after closing the room up again was stronger than I had expected it would be. Which made me think we might really have an issue hidden behind one of our walls. At this point I didn't know what to do. We had no smoke, no heat. Not one warning sign from the yearly and rather annoying required PA home schooling fire safety information was showing itself here. Yet, deep down it just seemed like there had to be something going on to make that smell. And I really didn't want to find out via the house bursting into flames that we had a wall fire. So the two most common options I found on the internet were calling an electrician or calling 9-1-1. The electrician was my first call of choice. He said he would come over, but couldn't get there until later that afternoon and then suggested I call 9-1-1, that the fire company has these really sensitive heat reading things that can find heat you can't feel with your hand. I really didn't want to call 9-1-1. So I called the Hubs. He said he really thought I should call 9-1-1. I really didn't want to call 9-1-1.

So I looked up the local SAVES website and sure enough they had a non-emergency number. I wasn't sure if anybody would be at the station since the "V" in SAVES stands for "volunteer" and it was 7:30 in the morning, but sure enough on one ring a very eager fireman answered my call. I calmly explained our situation, using the phrase "this is not an emergency" as many times as I possibly could. He told me I did the right thing in calling in. That in fact they do have some very amazing heat-detecting equipment, and even some sort of imaging camera. He told me that I would need to call the dispatchers at 9-1-1 though in order to have somebody sent out. I asked him if they would have to come in a fire truck. He said something very nonchalant like, "Maybe one". But then more determinedly said, "Be sure to call the 9-1-1 dispatch. And what is your address?" I gave it to him. We hung up. Then I sat there holding the phone.

I had once, a few years back, accidentally dialed 9-1-1 from my purse. Apparently there is a way to dial it without turning on your phone. I don't know what that way is, but my purse figured it out once. I got a call back from a pretty annoyed dispatcher. I am guessing they might get more than their fair share of accidental dials. I am also guessing I might be holding onto some hidden angst regarding my previous experience with a 9-1-1 dispatcher, because I really did not want to make that call.

I went back up to the girls' room. I opened the door. It still smelled. And in that moment I realized I really didn't want my house to burst into flame, and suddenly I was able to allow that desire to outweigh my desire to avoid calling 9-1-1, and I called. I started out very calmly explaining my very "non-emergency" situation. The very nice man interrupted me asking for my address and phone number. Then he let me continue. I again proceeded, using "not an emergency" to finish every sentence. I told him our situation, told him about the heat seeking tools, told him we did not have an emergency. He told me he understood. I asked him something to the effect of, "If a fire truck needs to come to bring these heat seeking tools, would it need to use its sirens for this non-emergency?" He said he did not believe so. He lied.

I hung up the phone (I didn't really. It was a cell phone. What are you supposed to say? I ended the call?) Not half-a-minute later the town's fire siren went off. Oh yes, it did. It began peeling loudly for all to hear. And I knew it was blaring just for me. I buried my head in my arms at my kitchen island and raised it moments later, just in time to see the township police car pull up right in front of the house. And in no time at all, in walked a very nice township police officer. He had gotten the 10-4 already and I escorted him to the girls' room. He commented on the smell and we stood there apparently waiting for the people with the heat seeking devices. Moments later, in comes the fire chief, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. So far so good. He starts asking a bunch of questions, we go downstairs to check something out and then it happens. From somewhere down the street I hear the faint sound of what I immediately knew was not just one siren. And as the sounds quickly grew in volume, it became evident they were coming from multiple directions. I looked out the dining room window and there, pulling up right in front of the driveway was an ambulance. That is right an ambulance. A vehicle that is designed with the sole purpose of treating people who need to be transported away from an emergency. An emergency. I had obviously not been clear in either of my phone calls.

The ambulance was a shock, but just then two regular old fire trucks pulled up to block the road and the fire truck with the really tall ladder pulled up behind, all with sirens loudly blaring. I flashed a look at the very nice police officer, and barely whispered, "They said they would send one truck. No reason for sirens..." He patted me on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry. They really like to do this."

And then all of a sudden I was in the middle of that scary scene from E.T. where the guys in suits come into the house. I always hated that scene. Four, yes four, fire fighters dressed in their full fire fighter gear, including air tank and helmets were suddenly in the house. They spread in all directions checking fuse boxes and dryers, waving their magic heat sensing tools all over the place. They checked the crawl space, the outlets, every inch of the walls and ceilings. At one point I came upstairs and all four of them were in the girls' room, one of them climbing up the ladder of their bunk bed. It was then that one of them said to me, "Hi. I'm the guy you talked to at the fire station." Oh, yes, the one who told me you'd probably send out one truck so somebody could run the magic heat sensing tools. I think he might have been waiting for me to thank him for bringing all his friends. I couldn't quite at that exact moment.

These guys were thorough and very polite. And they didn't find anything. They turned the electricity back on and said if I started to smell the smell again or saw smoke to give them a call. I thought at that very moment, "No. No thank you," but I said, "Okay. Will do. Thank you." And they all went outside and stood around for a while all talking and smiling. Then they left and our usually quiet street was once again quiet except for the neighbors who had gathered for the post-event press conference. I didn't feel quite up to talking with them, so I stuck to the back of the house for a good ten minutes hoping they would get tired of waiting and disperse back to their respective homes. When I went into the girls' room at the front of the house to peek and see, I was unpleasantly greeted by a very strong version of the same burning smell.

Every ounce of panic and worry that tried to rear its ugly head at that moment was instantly driven from my system by the complete and overwhelming desire to not have to call 9-1-1 again. I started madly touching plugs, feeling along outlets, checking everything that was plugged in. And then suddenly I touched something and it was hot. I bent over to smell it and it smelled like burning and melting plastic. I honestly started to cry. I had found it! Without magic heat seeking tools or sirens! I was so relieved. Relieved to have found the cause of the smell, relieved to have found it before it caused a major problem, and relieved I did not have to call 9-1-1 again.

It was a fan. A small one that could clip onto the railing of the bunk bed. The switch was in the on position, but the fan blades were not spinning. So the motor was apparently burning itself out and was busy beginning to melt the plastic case that held it. When the fire fighters turned the electricity back on, the fan motor again started running, producing heat that eventually would have caused major problems if we had not found it. So, I unplugged that bad boy, did quite a victory dance, breathed a deep (though still very burned plastic) sigh of relief, and called the Hubs with the good news. He was also very relieved.

And then I called the fire department. Really, I did. At their non-emergency number, to let them know I had found the source of the problem. The very nice fire fighter that I spoke with (not the same one who fielded my original non-emergency call) told me he was very glad I had found the issue before it had become a major problem and told me how glad he was they had been able to come out to the house. I thanked him and asked him to thank each of his other very kind fire fighters for their willingness to help me and to put their lives on the line to protect the members of their community. And I really meant it. I could not, however, in honesty, express that I was also glad he and all his equipment, and buddies and their equipment, and their trucks, and ladders, and ladder truck, and ambulance had been able to come to the house. Call me crazy, but it just seemed a bit much.

So problem solved, a new wave of confidence and success ushered me outside to greet the neighbors who were still out pretending to do yard work. I assured them all was well and that I had not, in fact, requested quite that much help in solving my problem. We chuckled and several of the neighbors commented on the wonderful eagerness of our local volunteer emergency workers to help people out in times of need.

This evening over an exchange of tomatoes, my one very sweet neighbor said that he had heard all the details of our exciting event on his police scanner and was sorry he had had to leave for his AARP meeting just as the fire trucks were pulling up. I told him I was sorry too, but assured him he had witnessed the very most exciting part of the whole ordeal. And in that moment, if just for my very sweet neighbor, I didn't care so much that the fire trucks had used their sirens or that fire trucks (plural) had pulled up to our house at all. I came back to the house (that no longer has a room smelling like burning and melting plastic) thankful we were protected, thankful for neighbors who care and express it with tomatoes, thankful to live in a town where people are willing to help others, even if it is to the tune of blaring sirens.