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Tick, tick, tick, tick.... Call 911!

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Feb. 11th, 2007 | 07:30 pm
human condition: relievedrelieved

I'm having a horrible day, physically speaking. I phoned my mother, who was downstairs, from my bedroom. I was trying to relax in bed, but I had to ring Mom to give her a list of items I need from the store.

During our conversation, she yelled, "HEY!" followed by the unmistakable noise of Merlin moving the kitchen table about.
"The dog's moving the table. I know why he's doing it."
She went on to explain that one of the burners on our gas stove was continuously ticking. Normally they make that clicking noise when the pilot light is going to ignite the flames. I don't know about you, but that sounds to me like gas was be steadily distributed into the air.
Mom was so blase about the whole thing. Obviously none of this concerned her in the slightest.

I got off the phone with her, called Jennifer to order her downstairs to investigate and possibly alert someone of this potentially explosive situation.

Jenn came running back up to tell me to get fully dressed, we'd probably have to go outside. I went to the top of the steps and immediately smelled something. (Maybe that was all in my head, but I definitely detected an odor that was awfully gas-like in nature.)
After yelling this out, I proceeded quickly to the kitchen to check things out for myself. Mom had gone ahead and lit the offending burner, which I suppose would keep gas from filling up the house.
The dog was acting very nervous.
He knows when something isn't right. He was trying to warn us, for Christ's sake! That's why he was moving the table; it was his way of getting this message across.

Mom, on the other hand, was sitting there as if nothing was wrong. She even blamed Merlin's anxiousness on me, and told me to put him outside - not for safety's sake, but to stop him from pacing, shoving the table, etc.
She also told me something I previously did not know. This has happened to the oven before!

I started opening windows and doors for fresh air. Jenn & I were quite upset, questioning Mom, pointing out why this was such an extreme safety violation.
Interspersed among all of this were my pleas to Jennifer to call someone.
"Call someone! You have to call someone!"
She asked me for the phone number to the fire department. The phone book only has 911 listed for fire-related incidents. Though she didn't want to call 911 for this, it was our only choice.
Mom didn't want anyone to be called, remained nonchalant and kept trying to convince us that things were fine, we're overreacting. I should qualify that: she was indifferent about the stove, but vehemently against any sort of authority making a visit.

Furthermore, she started closing the windows and demanded I shut the front door because "we're not heating the neighbourhood!"

Jenn phoned 911.
Meanwhile, Mom lit a cigarette in the kitchen! She could have blown up the place!

I returned to the front door and held it open. I saw a firetruck approaching...

A cute fireman came into the house to inspect the stove. He was followed by a man in a special uniform and hat. I can only assume he was in charge or perhaps some kind of fire inspector as I was too concerned about the ticking stove to get a good look at his uniform. Or to submit queries unrelated to the matter at hand.

The two men checked everything for us. It turns out there wasn't a gas leak.
They unplugged the oven to make it stop ticking. Special Uniformed Hat Man took a lighter and waved it around different areas of the oven to prove we aren't in danger of an explosion and/or fire.
As he did this, Jenn stepped back. He said, "Gee, you're not very trusting, are you?"
Forgive us, sir, we were raised by a Safety Director. Things going up in flames always seemed imminent, what with all the warnings Dad imparted throughout our lives.

Mom couldn't believe we didn't trust her judgment regarding the burner not being a potentially lethal problem.

While the firefighters were here, they voiced something that Jenn and I know quite well, whether Mom wants to take it to heart or not.
It's better to be safe than sorry.

Damn straight!

grabbing hands | to put it in words, to write it down |

Comments {2}


(no subject)

from: roythesnake
date: Feb. 12th, 2007 11:37 am (UTC)
grabbing hands

Okay, you thought there was a gas leak, so your mother lit a burner... what

Has she not seen Backdraft? Rescue Me? Ladder 49? A Very Special Episode of Life Goes on?

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she's turning blue

(no subject)

from: echo_la_lia
date: Feb. 18th, 2007 11:37 pm (UTC)
grabbing hands

I know, isn't that crazy? But she was 100% certain there wasn't a leak, and we were being unreasonable. In the end, she was correct about it not being a threat. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy she was right, but I hate it when she won't listen to reason. What if she was wrong?! I wasn't being unreasonable, neither was Jenn. I think calling 911 was for the best. I prefer hearing we aren't in danger from a trained professional.

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