Just Another Friday Night In The ‘Hood
Loss: 42 pounds in 68 days Attitude: Strong.
The story of Friday night actually goes back a week.
Tim who is the wonderful grandson my friends, Maryanne and Kennon, had agreed to help me with some chores around the house – one of which was to power wash some mildew from the house. Early that morning, I had planned to head to the laundromat with a load of soiled dog bed sheets courtesy of my older dog, Sandy, who, to put it delicately, can’t hold her own very well any longer. When I realized that the World Cup finals were on in the afternoon, I decided to wait until then since there would surely be less people at the laundromat.
Tim showed up around 10am. We hauled the power washer out front, hooked it up, turned it on and watched it sputter and die. While Tim busied himself with some other chores, I grabbed my keys to head to the store to buy another power washer. Houston heat is miserable this time of year. Imagine a closed car with a load of smelly sheets with an interior temperature of about 120 degrees. Needless to say, I drove to Wal-Mart with my head hanging outside the window. I bought the new power washer, headed home, resting my cheek on the side mirrors.
Tim hooked it all up and did a smashing job rinsing the grime from my house. When he was done, he put everything away and handed me the instruction manual which I promptly threw away. I blame my father for this. I read instruction manuals for years because, when I was 12, my sister and I each received cameras for Christmas but were not allowed to use them until we read the manuals. Years later, Susan and I bought my Dad a camera and he refuse to read the manual. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose!
So, this past Friday night, I decided I wanted to power wash the front porch and sidewalk. I fed the dogs this new gourmet dog chow that was on sale at Krogers, let them out for a bit then back into the house. I hauled the power washer out front, hooked up the hose and the electrical cords and revved it up. After a few trials and errors, I got it cooking. Power washers are incredible machines. One swipe and dirt is blasted away. It’s a lovely mind-numbing chore, head down, concentrating on each little square of the stamped concrete.
Suddenly, behind me, there was a monstrous blast. My immediate thought was that I should have read the damned instructions and had now blown up the power washer. When I turned to look, there was an Chevy Blazer engulfed in flames on the street in front of my neighbor’s house. You know how you see cars on fire on the side of the road sometimes – smoke bellowing from under the hood? This was different. This SUV looked like something from the movies. The flames were blazing so thick, I could not see inside the car. They reached up so high, they were licking the pecan tree branches above them. Within seconds, parts of the car started exploding – windows blasted out, tires blew, the radiator hissed and screamed.
Is someone in the car? Dear God, please don’t let there be anyone in the car. Are there kids strapped in the backseat? Where is the driver? Where are the neighbors? Call 911! Someone call 911! It was eerily silent on the street except for the sound of fire.
My heart was pounding. All I had was my power washer and a long hose. I quickly disconnected the hose from the power washer, then pulled it as close as I could get which was only a couple of feet into my neighbor’s yard. At that point, I noticed there were dead tree limbs piled next to the SUV which were catching fire. My measly hose was no match for the fire but if it crept any closer, maybe I could keep the flames from spreading.
Within minutes, an ambulance screamed down the street, followed by a fire truck. I dropped the hose and moved a little closer, still afraid of what I might see inside the car. The fire was still huge. I could see the metal outlines of the car seats. The roof was gone, metal burned and peeled back.
The firetruck hooked up to the fire hydrant, which was no more than ten feet away, and blasted the SUV with water. When the water hit, more car parts exploded. It took at least 30 minutes for the fire to be put out. The firemen had to use an axe and some other massive tool to pry open the hood to get to the engine which was blazing. Scary, scary stuff.
As I was standing there, mouth agape, one of the fireman came over to talk to me. I told him that I saw nothing until after the car was on fire. I asked him about the driver. He said someone saw him get out of the car, but that no one knew where he had gone. By this time, some of the neighbors had wandered over. One neighbor from down the street thought he recognized the car but wasn’t sure to whom it belonged.
Once the fire was out, I headed back to my chores. I hooked up the power washer again and started on the sidewalk. A young policeman came over to me and explained that he would have to stay there until the truck was towed off and asked if he could please use my restroom? I felt like an idiot when I told him no. I explained that my dogs are crazy and that they think that all men in uniform are the mailman, the most hated man on the planet in their world. I sent him over to the neighbor’s house.
After a while, another man walked over to me. He looked like an investigator. He asked me what I had witnessed. I told him that the SUV was not there when I got home and was not there when I started washing the porch. I asked him about the driver. He said the car was not from this part of town and that all anyone saw was someone in a brown shirt exit the car before it blew up.
I asked him what might cause a car to blow up like that. He said, “That was no accident. There was something in the front passenger seat set to explode.” Holy cow. Arson? On my street?
After he wandered off, I finished as much as I could before the sun went down, then put away all my tools. When I stepped back into the kitchen, it looked as if a bomb had gone off inside the house. There were poopy footprints everywhere. It looked as if both dogs had danced in poop all over the house. It actually looked as if they had gone back to reload. Can you imagine if I had let the policeman in the house to go to the bathroom? Good Lord.
I kicked the canines into the backyard and, on my hands and knees, washed the floors from one end of the house to the other. They are never getting that gourmet dog food again! By the time I was done, I was worn out. Just another Friday night in the ‘hood!
The refrigerator now contains only bottled water, 2 boxes of Velveeta cheese (for giving the dogs their pills) and 2 bottles of insulin for my dog, Mel.
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