Oh Yeah.

I forgot the "best" part of yesterday.

So, I was exhausted, right? And all I wanted to do after work was go home, eat dinner, watch Project Runway, and go to sleep.

I got a text from Ryan an hour before I got off saying there was smoke in the kitchen, but he couldn't find the source. Everything was off and cold, there was no heat or fire anywhere, no smoke anywhere else in the house. Just the kitchen.

I got home, saw it for myself, and called Park Jefferson. They said they'd call maintenance and hung up. Then they called back 5 minutes later to say they were sending out the Fire Department.

Some back story: Park Jefferson is famous for the near-monthly visits from the Fire Department. To the point where they always send out a bunch of engines, and when I say where I live, people respond with "Oh, the place with the fires."

It was finally our turn.

They came, sirens blaring. Looked around the apartment, found nothing. Banged on doors. Were about to go into the hallway crawlspace when someone downstairs answered their door: they had fallen asleep with the oven on. I'm still unclear whether we only got the smoke after they woke up and were airing out, or they only woke up when the firemen banged on their doors, but Ryan's going with the story that means we saved lives. Okay.

They aired out the downstairs apartment, our kitchen still smells like burnt toast, we had drive-thru for dinner, and are now in the annals of Park Jefferson's Fire Department History. The End.