Saturday, September 19, 2009

False Alarm


In my dreams, a firetruck filled with hot firemen of FDNY descends upon my apartment. They pound on my door. I open it up, wearing a flirty yet demure short silk nightgown. "Yes?" I greet them, all flushed and excited.

"Miss, we are just making doing a routine investigation of ----- " (I don't know technical fireman terms so they could be checking anything. "Mind if we come in?"

"Not at all! In fact, I think there is a gas leak in my bedroom! Would you take a look?"

"With pleasure," the youngest and sexiest fireman responds. "Hey Sully and Fitzy, why don't you go back to the truck? I think I got this covered."

Then me and the youngest and sexiest fireman, nicknamed "Smitty" by his cohorts, carries me to my bedroom.

"No gas leak here," Smitty declares. "But you are smokin'."

We make passionate love for hours and hours, and then we get married.

Yes, this is my fantasy of what would happen if the FDNY came to my apartment. The reality, however, was much different when they came to my apartment tonight at 9pm.

That's right, kids. Liz got her wish of having a visit from the FDNY. However, it was not what I had hoped.

In my grand tradition of making a short story very long, let's start at the beginning, which would be last night/this morning. I had gone to the bar the Frying Pan for my dear friend Megan's birthday party. The Frying Pan is literally a boat on the Hudson River, docked at Pier 66. I was really excited for this party because 1) I adore Megan 2) her mon was going to be there and 3) I had given up booze post-Labor Day up until my marathon on October 25. However, I granted myself a dispensation so I could drink on Megan's b-day, since she is moving to Costa Rica to be with her fiance soon!

Well, drink I did. Corona after Corona after Corona. We danced, and drank. I don't think I had a sip of water or a bite of food. Oh, and someone bought me a few beers so it counts as free!

At about 1:30--I think--might have been later, might have been earlier--Meghan K and her friend Sandy and I decided to go another bar somewhere in Union Square. That's always a great idea, to go for round 2 at 2am!

We closed down the bar at 4am, and we all hopped in cab. I went to sleep at 4:30, which was the time I woke up last week because I had to run 23 miles!

So, needless to say today I was hurting. I left my apartment once to get Chinese takeout. I watched multiple episodes of Hoarders. Then I heard my spare carbon monoxide alarm go off for about 7 seconds. It stopped and I didn't think anything of it.

I took a walk because I was feeling all guilty that it was a beautiful day and I was wasting it being all hungover. When I returned to my apartment, I decided to call ConEd about my carbon monoxide scare.

"Do you smell gas?" they asked me.

"We-ell," I began. "Here's the thing--I don't have a sense of smell, so I can't tell."

"What do you mean, you don't have a sense of smell???"

"Put it this way," I explained. "If you fart in front of me, I won't notice."

He giggled. "Do you feel faint or woozy?"

"Well, yes, but that's because I'm hungover."

The ConEd rep paused. "You know, this isn't a matter for ConEd . . . you need to call the fire department. I am going to transfer you to 911."

Oh sh--. As you read before, I absolutely want the FDNY to come to my apartment. But NOT at 9pm on a Saturday night, when I am hungover, lethargic, and dressed in a t-shirt that says "Crowd pleaser." Not when my underwear is all over my couch drying and remnants of my Chinese food are in the sink. I was supposed to be wearing a negligee people!

I threw everything I could in the closet, and the rest under my bed. Then I heard sirens.

Oh no. Oh f---ing no.

Not one but TWO firetrucks pulled up in front of my apartment. I went outside.

"What's the problem here?" Mr. Fireman asked from his truck. He was older than I had hoped.

"Um . . . my carbon monoxide detector went off for 10 seconds and I don't have a sense of smell so I got nervous."

"Carbon monoxide doesn't have a smell, but okay, let's do it."

I led two firemen to my apartment. None are named Sully, Fitzy, or my beloved Smitty. Neither are particularly young or hot. The hunky ones stayed in the truck, which I suppose is a blessing.

The first fireman said to me, "Where's the alarm?"

I handed it to him.

He glanced at a monitor he held in his hand. "Carbon monoxide levels are safe." He studied the alarm. "You need a new battery. That's what caused it to go off."

I wanted to shrink. Rarely am I at a loss for words, and this was one of those times. "That's all?" I squeaked

"Yup, you're safe."

I escorted the two firemen to my door. I couldn't even look them in the eye, let alone inquire them to investigate the gas leak in my bedroom.

"Sorry for wasting your time. I support the FDNY. Thank you for what you do for the city."

Mr. Fireman laughed and waved goodbye.

So there you have it. I finally got several hot firemen to come to my apartment. Be careful what you wish for! You might be too hungover to appreciate it!

1 comment:

Mark said...

love it, liz :)

-mark