A Personal Story About Fire And Assorted Idiocies

Fire is an interesting thing. Since Prometheus gave it to mankind and then got pecked at by mean birds, fire has fueled many things. Lamps and factories and cars and whatever. Is there fire in cars? Who cares? Not me. Anyway, I should say up top that I am not an arsonist. I did enjoy the book Fahrenheit 451, which I read in High School. But from memory I’m fairly certain that’s an anti-arsonist book. I just find fire vaguely alluring. Or at least I did.

Way back in the ancient times of 2017, before Covid-19 and before me getting high a lot and other life things happening, I did a lab assignment with matches in eighth grade science class. And I enjoyed using the matches, honestly. They smell good and there’s an element of risk because you can burn your fingies if you aren’t careful. So I pocketed one of the books of matches before I left the classroom. That night I was staying over at my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. And I knew for a fact they also had a matchbook there. I thought I’d sit in their backyard and just light matches and look at them and then blow them out. But it was too windy. Because that’s how being outdoors works.

At the same time this was happening, my Grandparents were getting their bed replaced. My Grandpa was sleeping on the couch and my Grandma was sleeping in the spare room I usually slept in. My annoying Uncle was staying there for a bit and he was sleeping downstairs. I didn’t want to sleep down there with him and his creepy mustache. So I suggested I make a makeshift blanket bed in the Master bedroom. And as one does, I spent my Friday night laying on a dusty floor made of shit carpet watching Nick at Nite and lighting matches. At one point I set off the smoke alarm and my Grandma told me to move my pillow from the cords so I didn’t set anything on fire.

I want to say before I continue that this is a stupid story about the dumb bullshit that fourteen-year-olds are prone to do when they have no friends. And if it’s boring I apologize, there’s a point to all of this. I started setting paper towels on fire and then dousing them in fire. Or I had a paper towel to keep any ashes in place?? This was nine years ago. A large paper towel set on fire. And I was unable to immediately put it out before it managed to spread to the corner of the blanket I was laying on and the back mesh cushion on the bottom of my backpack. I doused everything quickly, but I set off the smoke alarm.

So I only had a minute or so to hide the stuff I messed up temporarily before my Grandmother, who’s had both of her knees replaced and is 4′ 6″, walked very slowly into her bedroom to remind me to move the pillows. Everything was fine though, the fire was out. I can’t remember if I ever told her? I don’t imagine I did. I waited for her to go to the bathroom and went down to the basement and hid the damp burnt blanket in a container, threw away the matches, and went back to watching The George Lopez Show.

I remember Nick Offerman was in an episode playing George’s work friend and I was happy to see him. I always am. So my mini obsession with fire came and went and I went on with my life. I don’t even like using lighters, I don’t want to burn my fingies.

Nine Years Later… (Or One Month Ago, Depending How You View Time)

I have, or had, a portable charger with a pop socket on it, and quickly grew to find said pop socket annoying. I feel that fad has passed. So a while ago I pulled that pop socket off and carved out the little remaining pop sockety bits. I want things to look a certain way. It makes me quite uncomfortable when I try to organize my TV and there are certain apps I can’t uninstall or delete or hide from view. The digital age seems committed to triggering my OCD.

My father advised me to throw away this portable charger after gutting it, especially because he purchased me a shiny new socket-less one. But I wanted that to stay shiny and new and continued to use the old scratched one, periodically trying to clean crap out of the back crevices. And you know how when you get home from a long day of work, you want to spend your time obsessively cleaning bits of grass out of the back of a portable charger with a thumb tack.

After the fact, my friend asked why I didn’t use something non-metal, like a cue tip. I said it wasn’t thin enough. She then asked why I didn’t use a toothpick. Obviously they’re in the kitchen I said, and I didn’t want to walk that far, and I couldn’t find my paperclips. Also I’m positive I did this once before, I said, which is the only reasonable explanation I have for why I stuck a metal rod inside a fully charged electrical box.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, because nobody would have ever expected this to happen, my portable charger ignited in my hands. I reacted quickly and jumped off my bed before chucking the charger to the corner of the bed. I ran into my kitchen and instantly forgot that I was standing three feet from our fire extinguisher. So instead I grabbed a dirty glass from the sink that I used for milk and cookies the night before, and chucked a small amount of water on the fire. Never mind that I have a 64 ounce bottle of water with me at all times right next to my bed. By the way, to clarify to anyone from the property management company who may be reading this for legal reasons, I’d like to clarify that no damage was done to your apartment, only my bed and my dignity.

So the fire was out, fairly quickly, but it fused my soft blanket to my comforter and burned through my sheets. There’s a small hole in my mattress that I had to patch up. And it burned all the hair off of my knuckles, which was a bummer. I like my knuckle hair! And half my arm hair, too. I lost that also.

See, there isn’t as much to this story, hence the prelude. The first story is an odyssey of hubris about a man who flew too close to the sun. A narrative I’ve honed over the past decade. And this is just an anecdote about a dumbass setting his bed on fire. I have new sheets now, and a different soft blanket, but it’s not as good. And then I spent an hour or so of that day wandering around Target looking for new sheets and Cortisone for my mild burns. Then I went home and ate leftover spaghetti on my bed and got sauce on my uncovered mattress, like an IDIOT.

That week really sucked too because most of my day is spent either at work or driving in bumper to bumper traffic. And a day or so later I was turning into a lane to enter an off ramp onto the freeway, and I’d been turning before the light turned red, to clarify. But a woman who was coming from the other side decided that her and her daughter had to enter the ramp before me. So she was less than an inch from the car in front of me. But so was I, still.

But I stuck with it and made her have to relent and let me in. Because, again, I’m an idiot, and I couldn’t give up. I didn’t want to be cut off by a mean driver. So she merged out of the lane and threw a coffee at my window. Thankfully my window was rolled up though, so her coffee didn’t splash on my poor hair-free knuckles. Man, I’ve lost track of this entirely. What is this about? Fire?

Being an adult is a complete shit show. It’s incredibly annoying. Sometimes you set your bed on fire and sometimes someone throws a coffee at you. Sometimes life gets out of hand and you forget to watch The Flying Nun. The point is, I can only assume, don’t experiment with fire in your Grandma’s house. Don’t stick thumbtacks in portable chargers. And don’t mess with DC drivers. That’s three points. You get it. There are far easier ways to remove your knuckle hair, without nearly destroying your apartment. I’d like to thank my Dad by the way for helping me out through this shitty scenario I put myself in. I messed up bad this time! I burned my fingies!!!

Next time on Too Many Servings of John… the little guy takes on the big mean company. But the little guy isn’t me, to clarify. I’m not taking anybody on, it’s just a movie review.