A minor intervention
Our house is fairly well protected. The paper delivery man knows it well; he only tries to collect his due once every calendar month, because the dog is always watching. We have no fear of flooding, now that the city has designed a complicated series of high water deviation canals in the area. The chance of serious hurricane damage is kept at a distance by a continent. Unfortunately, we are not safe from that menace that lies in wait: the dirty oven.
Now, we have a self-cleaning model, and from time to time I lock the access hatch and let things heat up to the point of ash formation. We also try to avoid cooking things like maple syrup or marshmallow chews. Still, a quick run for supper can lead to alarming situations. Nothing remarkable, but when we heard a siren this evening, and a big truck with a light show blocked the driveway, we’d obviously missed something.
Oh, right; the strident alarm noise that had put a team waving towels near the open door while the dog watched for delivery people (she’s always watching). The noisemaker is tied to a local security company that is supposed to call and check on our state before sending reinforcements. Somehow, between the onset of the chirp and the expected call, the telephone had rung for someone else (looking for advice on restaurants). Not ours, where food is sometimes crispier than recommended; a real commercial site. I think that the ever-cautious sentinel people may have misconstrued a busy phone line for something more sinister.
The firefighters were friendly. They didn’t attack the walls with axes or try to fill the basement pool area. Instead, they accepted our explanation of an unexpected phone call with an air of serious attention, and returned to their fancy vehicle. But, we’ve been warned. From now on, the oven will be ventilated and kept clean. Excuse me while I set the control panel for optimum ash flakes.
