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Just another day my ass
Friday the 13th holds a sacred meaning for most people. It’s a day where you make sure not to walk under a ladder, run the other way if you see a black cat crossing your path, sneeze twice, jump up and down counter-clockwise while saying the alphabet. Okay, that last one was probably made up, but nonsense nonetheless. I’ll never understand why people get so superstitious about that one day. I’ve tried to do some research on it, a lot of it pertaining to the Knights Templar, while other stories relate it to Valhalla and legends of Loki ordering Hoder to kill Balder the Beautiful. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
I have never, personally, considered myself a superstitious person. There’s no specific reason why I’m not, I really just don’t think about it that much. However, there is one Friday the 13th that set my views askew and has left me with a quiet nagging any time I see a black cat crossing my path, or see a ladder leaning against a building.
The year was 1996-ish, and I was in the sixth grade living in Park City, Utah. My older sister has always been something of a rebel. She used to be defiant to prove a point, and on this day, Friday the 13th, I will blame her for what happened forever. She decided that she wanted to go out of her way to break every Friday the 13th superstition just to laugh in the face of fate. And thus she did.
That night after school we were sitting in the living room watching Family Matters (I couldn’t get enough of Urkel and his shenanigans!) while our mom was in the kitchen getting ready to make dinner. She was making my favorite: tacos! The best part of the tacos she makes is that she doesn’t buy those pre-packaged crunchy taco shells, she actually fries the tortillas in oil into taco shells herself. It’s the best.
She got a phone call from our dad saying that his car wasn’t starting and that he needed to be picked up from work. My sister and I were definitely old enough to be left to our own devices, my sister was already of babysitting age, so we assured her that we would hold down the fort while she retrieved dad.
As we sat there watching our show, my sister turned and asked me if it smelled like something was burning. I told her that it was probably just food on the burner, nothing to be concerned about. Looking back in hindsight, even it was only food on the burner that was causing a smoky smell, one would assume that the burner was actually ON with nobody in the kitchen using that burner, therefore alerting a cause for concern. But, the show was more important, and frankly, it took me until just now writing this that I even thought of that.
Anyway, we continue watching TV and the smell is getting progressively stronger until the room was actually filling with a thin cloud of smoke. Something was definitely wrong now. We both jumped up and ran to the kitchen to see the cast-iron pan filled with oil for the taco shells on fire.
Now, remember, I was in sixth grade at this point, meaning that I’ve had proper training throughout my life in what to do in emergencies. I spent years of my life in Southern California, so I know what to do in case of an earthquake like it’s nobody’s business, I was a D.A.R.E. spokesperson for my school when I was in elementary school (yep, I was that awesome), I knew the procedures for calling 911, how to give mouth to mouth, what to do if someone was drowning (reach or throw, don’t go!). Seriously, I knew what to do in case of a fire. Grease fires, cover it, never throw water on it. When using a fire extinguisher, aim at the base of the flames. They really do teach kids these things in school, the basics of first world survival.
I will tell you right now, when we came around the corner into the kitchen and I saw that fire a few feet away from me leaping from the pan, there was not a single logical thought in my head besides: WATER! MUST GET WATER!
And water I got. My sister, being ever calm in the emergency, was leaning down in the cabinets digging for a lid large enough to snuff the fire out. While I, being quick as a bunny, filled an entire 32 ounce tumbler glass full of water and literally threw it on the flaming pan.
What happened next can only be explained as a scene from the film Backdraft. My sister and I stood there, frozen, watching as a small oil fire transformed into a four-foot wall of fire, now engulfing the ceiling. Balls of fire shot from the pan catching patches of carpet on fire, decoration flowers hanging on the wall swept up into the flames. My sister, realizing what her buffoon little sister did, wanted to get me away from trying to “help”. She told me to call 911 while she tried to get the fire under control.
Yes. Yes, I could do this. I picked up the phone, dialed 911 and the moment, I heard the calm, womanly voice on the other end of the line, I lost my shit. I started screaming bloody murder: “HELP! HELP US!!! HEEEELLLPPPP!!!”I was hysterical. Absolutely, fucking hysterical.
The 911 dispatcher remained calm and had to ask me repeatedly what the problem was. Here is roughly the dialogue that ensued.
Me: HELP!! FIRE! HELP!!!
Dispatcher: Okay, there’s a fire. What is your address?
Me: HELP US!!!!!!! HELP! OH MY GOD!!!
Dispatcher: I need you to calm down, we’re sending someone. Is there someone there with you that I could talk to?
Me: MY SISTER! HELP US!!!!! HELP!!!!!
At this point, and I still to this day do not know how, my sister had not only contained the entire fire, but she got it out. Not a single burning ember was to be found. She took the phone from my crazed hand and took over the conversation. She calmly told the dispatcher that the fire was out and that there was no need to send anybody. Of course, they were still sending out the fire department, so my sister told them that there was no need for them to have their sirens on. They drove into our neighborhood with sirens blaring.
My parents drove up the same time the fire department was wandering around looking for our condo. My parents had joked on the way home when they saw the fire engines speed past them that they were going to our house. I doubt they still joke like that today! Everything was fine with the house besides some nasty smoke damage, and obviously what perished in the fire.
So, I guess I lied, I am superstitious and you will never see me intentionally walk under a ladder. I always roll up my windows and hold my breath when I drive past a cemetery, and I never let my feet touch the ground by my bed. And despite this fact, I’ll always have a Friday the 13th story to tell.
Unihorn of Steel 