Avenue C & Eagle Drive

It’s been a good vacation this week with golf, bike riding, shopping, dining, and generally vegging out for a week. I feel like I’m ready to take on work and the upcoming semester with renewed vigor.

Only one thing stood out this week as a harrowing experience. I went to bed Friday night at around midnight to the beeping of what I thought was a clock radio going off in another apartment. One hour later, I awoke to scuffling on the balcony and red lights coming through my window. I shot out of my bed, put on my flannel pants, and went outside. Turns out that the person living in the apartment directly above me had left something on the stove, causing it to smoke and smell awful. After talking with my neighbors about it, the firemen left and I went to bed.

The next evening, a friend and I were going to play video games at my apartment. We pulled into the parking lot, got out, and I immediately heard the smoke alarm that I thought was a clock radio the night before. We immediately went up to the third floor to investigate. The sound was originating from the same apartment as last night, and we could smell something burning. We tried to peek in through the windows, trying to see if anyone was inside. All I could see was smoke. We started knocking on the doors of the surrounding apartments to warn them of the impending doom that was about to commence on our humble little roach motel. The man I warned was quite friendly, and we started knocking on the smoking apartment’s door. My friend, on the other hand, was being chewed out by an Asian college student who was quite annoyed by being interrupted from her Calculus studies.

Finally, after knocking and banging on the door, a man fumbled with the lock and opened the door. Smoke poured out of the 425 square foot rathole, and the man reset his alarm and turned off his stove. He was obviously under the influence of weed and/or speed, and he said he had slept through the whole thing. After asking if he was alright and warning him not to do it again, we went back to my apartment and went on with our business.

Hopefully that doesn’t happen again, and the methhead just buys a microwave to cook his Dinty-Moore stew.