The house alarm blared loudly as I frantically entered the code to disable it, fan the smoke alarm, and order BoBo to open the front and back doors. My husband had keyed into the level of smoke in the house well before I did. Somehow, I didn’t see the smoke in the air even after he pointed it out. Minutes later, the smoke alarm set off the chain of events.
In our home, the smoke alarm is connected to the alarm system, which is connected to the fire department. It is therefore critical to clear the alarm as soon as possible if the only reason that the alarm is going off is because someone is burning a meal. Such was the case today.
I fanned the smoke detector and fumbled with the alarm keypad. In the back of my mind I thought about how I didn’t need that hotdog that had created all of the smoke. When I cooked the batch of hotdogs for the kids I resisted the urge to cook one for myself. I didn’t need a fat filled hotdog.
Minutes later when I realized that there were slim pickings in my refrigerator, I turned the stove back on. I cut the hotdog in half lengthwise to cook it more evenly as the oil left in the pan apparently began to smoke. My hotdog had just landed in the pan when Tom came in to complain about the smoke. “What smoke?” I asked. And then the smoke alarm and house alarm agreed with Tom.
Our security company called a minute later to see if “everything was okay.” This is the part where I have to explain that I was burning yet another meal. Safety can be so humbling.
Tom waited for me to get off the phone and then began his jokes. “Hello Julie. This is Amada at your alarm company. What are you burning, I mean ‘cooking’ today?” he said while laughing. I played along, “How did you know that her name was Amanda?” Surprised, Tom said, “Really? Her name was Amanda?” It wasn’t. He asked if the security company might have been involved in the coupons for cooking classes that recently arrived in the mail. He’s such a comedian. He made that up; I don’t actually remember seeing any coupons.
I took a bite a bite of the offending hotdog and, funny as it was, it didn’t taste good at all. I promptly fed it to the dog. I suppose I could use some cooking lessons.
photo source: www.e-rcps.com/learn/cities/sanfrancisco/index.htm