Like many, I got together with my mother the day before Thanksgiving to partake in the art of baking pies. As usual, my mom and I got a little carried away, and ended up making a grand total of 6 pies. The next day, I had all of my roommates and a couple of friends come to enjoy Thanksgiving Dinner at my mom’s house. You know, sharing the festive spirit, and trying to keep everybody together. Dinner was fantastic, and the leftovers were nothing short of overwhelming. My mom, being as generous as she is, sent us [a group of college kids surviving on ramen ;)] home with most of the leftovers and several plastic tupperware containers that held 4 of the pies.
At first, all of the leftovers were puzzle pieced into the fridge. However, more went into the fridge over time, and I noticed that two of the pie containers had magically disappeared. Success! We’d demolished two whole pies! … Orrrr, so I thought.
Last night, December 12th, I decided that I was going to cook dinner for my roommates. Nothing sounded better than fresh steamed vegetables, and baked tilapia. As I bustled around the kitchen getting everything ready, I nonchalantly flipped on the oven to preheat to 425°.
I was talking to my roommate, Ani, while waiting on the oven to reach temperature. Suddenly, she wrinkled her nose. I hardly had enough time to be confused, before I was assaulted by the acrid smell of burning plastic. Ani and I high-tailed it into the kitchen just in time to see plumes of black smoke hovering above the burners. Two words. Oh. Shit.
Grabbing the fire extinguisher from under the kitchen cabinet, Ani and I planted ourselves in our too-small apartment kitchen. Ani pulled open the oven door just as small green and yellow flames flickered to life. Delivering a solid blast of bitter powder into the oven, we immediately began coughing and fanning in front of our faces, backing into the dining room to yell, “Everybody get the animals outside and don’t breathe!”
Turns out, we ran out of storage space in the fridge, so, the two pie containers that I thought had been put away, were placed inside the oven.
On a more positive note, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody in my house move faster, orrr cough more. The rat cages were outside, and our felines were already pouncing around outside with no need for invitation. From then on, it was a matter of opening every window and door we could get our hands on before we all toppled outside. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to breathe smoggy, disgusting Florida air. But I guess when compared to toxic fumes….
I now need to replace my mom’s tupperware containers, and call my apartment maintenance to check out my oven (and my smoke detectors, which didn’t go off). We got as much of the plastic out as possible, but I wouldn’t depend on kitchen knives and hammers.
That would be the aftermath of this little adventure. And of course, all of this would fall on the eve of the third Friday the Thirteenth of the year. ;D
I suppose we can collectively take several things away from this.
- Don’t store things that aren’t meant to be cooked in the oven.
- Always check your oven before preheating it. There’s no telling what might be in there.
- Smoke detectors. Check ’em.
- Fire extinguisher powder gets everywhere. Everywhere.
Happy Friday the 13th, everybody.
-Nien
Who the hell does that — stores plastic in an oven????!!