I was in the middle of cleaning and I went to the hallway to throw away the garbage when I hear screaming and people running down the stairs. I assumed it was kids being stupid. I went back into the apartment and went about cleaning. But the commotion was getting louder.
I thought it was a domestic violence case or some other kind of fighting so I stood at the door, looking through the peep hole (yes, I am that neighbor).
The Husband comes to the door and I see my neighbor running out of his apartment with his family. Frantically screaming in a language I do not understand. (My neighbors are Indian.) I go to open the door but The Husband puts his hand out. "What the hell are you doing? Don't open the door."
(About 2 years, there was a shooting on are floor - so The Husband is very cautious.)
I go into our bedroom and look out the window. And I see flashing lights and a ladder.
"Um...Babe? Is that a f--king fire truck? There's a F--KING FIRE!" I started yelling. I went into full panic mode. Probably not the best reaction.
I run back to our door and look out the peep hole. I still hear people running down the staircase.
"Get the phones!" I yell as I run back to our room. Where I then stood in front of my closet wondering what to wear. (In my defense, I was in the middle of cleaning. I'm in my house chanclas (slippers), my hair is a knotty wild mess, I'm wearing a tank (with no real support, if you get my drift) underneath an old short billowy tank dress. We had gone to the pool earlier that day - I'm ashy, sweaty and gross. And my toe nail polish chipped. And yes, as I write this, I realize how ridiculous my though process can be. As for The Boy - he was rocking an old pair of size 4t shorts and a paint splattered white tank.)
"There's no time for that. Let's go!" The Husband yells.
I grab The Boy - who was in the middle of painting a wooden dump truck with The Husband - and said "We gotta go."
Needless to say The Boy protests.
We all ran out the front door to the closest staircase, where we see some smoke and water gushing down the steps. We run to the other stair case and we are able to get out.
"Did you lock the front door?" The Husband asks.
"No - you were the last one out."
The Husband rolls his eyes and runs back into the building to lock the door.
After an hour of standing around the front of our building, we are able to get back inside.
|The Fire Trucks were too much for The Boy|
It never would have occurred to me to contact my local fire department and register The Boy.
Have you practiced home emergency drills? Would love to hear your fire safety tips and techniques.