As usual I’m minding my own dang business reading in my room. I heard a distant thud. I felt it more that heard it.
I jumped up and got my medic bag and put 2 protein shakes in. Put my jacket on and my Crocs.
I was making my way to an exit. I’m not a lay-a-bout about potential terrorism.
I’m gone!
I see people standing around looking alarmed. I dialed the Li’l-wrekkers number as I kept walking.
Oops, I hear sirens and smell smoke.
This place is not safe anymore.
I told the Li’l-wrekker not to leave town. She asked what’s wrong. I don’t really know yet.
I told her don’t come here yet, just hang around.
Here come the fire persons. I’m outdoors where the cats are. They are with me. I feel safe for the moment.
They’re evacuating the patients. The Director is on the first floor. She’s not sure what’s going on.
I pity her. That must be scary.
I knew what happened. The kitchen had something that exploded.
That’s as complicated as it needs to be. Get the folks out. And go down make sure no chefs or kitchen help are injured. Get them out. If there’s a fire start putting it out.
I was cooling my heels, the Li’l-wrekker shows up. I’m in the park area she’s outside the fence. I assure her I’m alright. She said the local news on the radio was reporting something about traffic needs to stay away from the area. So she decided to come on over in case I needed her. Delusional, kind but delusional.
She makes me smile.
No fire to speak of. The gas was turned off. The smoke was cleared. All patients were checked out. No one had any ill effects. Except my sanity. I didn’t tell that part.
A pressure cooker exploded.
All kitchen help were in the break room. No one was injured.
We were allowed back in. It stunk a bunch, I guess that was safe to breathe.
Hey!! We got Dominos pizza. My happy day!!
I guess the big clean up is going down.
The Li’l-wrekker left me there and went home.
My girlfriend and I decided on lunch at Farrell’s when they were still around. Shortly after we got our burgers I got to looking around for a refill on the soda and none of the help were there. About then someone came out of the kitchen, made a phone call, then went back into the kitchen. This time when the swinging door came our way a wisp of smoke curled out at the top of the door.
About thirty seconds later everybody came out of the kitchen, not casually, and the smoke was heavier. Our waitress came over and said, “Um, you don’t have to worry about paying but we need you to leave, like right now.” We’d already wrapped the burgers in napkins and abandoning the fries we hit the door about the time the fire engines were arriving. Leaning on our car we munched the burgers watching the show until they (the burgers) were gone, got bored and left.
In college I visited a friend’s house for Thanksgiving. They had a rule that pressure cookers were no longer allowed in their house.
Her mother had blown up a pressure cooker. Twice.
Until then I had never met anyone who had a problem with a pressure cooker, and used one without much thought for the possible danger. Only last year did I buy one on my own. That was mainly due to the fact that I didn’t cook that often, and didn’t do any canning, until the beginning of the pandemic.
My mother used pressure cookers all the time. The sound of the hissy valve is part of my childhood memories. My bedroom was directly over the kitchen. The head of the bed and my head were directly over the stove.
On morning at her usual ungodly hour of the morning, she decided to cook something in the cooker. Some sort of lentil thing. This time kaboom! The lid blew off hit the ceiling and spewed the contents.
I roared awake, and landed on the floor, flew downstairs. My mother turned toward the kitchen doorway and asked “ oh did that wake you, dear heart?”.
Good thing we had the same type of humour. She did not get a new pressure cooker.
Breakfast came from the Dialysis center next door. ( The 2 places are ran by the same Company)
It was a egg McMuffin kinda thing and an apple. In a styrofoam box.
It was good.
My mother was in mortal fear of pressure cookers after her grandmother’s exploded while canning veggie soup. I had an Indian housemate who used one regularly. It made the most delicious chicken and rice. I have an Instant Pot but I’m still torn about the pressure feature even though they are much safer than in great-grandmother’s time.
There was a pressure cooker in my youth, too.
Dad made gaskets for it from the cardboard stiffeners his shirts had when they came back from the laundry. Despite my beloved Mama Plant, it never exploded.
You have to find fun where ever you can.
One of the persons who brings trays up looked alittle shell shocked.
She apologized for the state of the food yesterday. I thought that was nice.
Actually the food from the Dialysis center is much better.
I think they cook to order.
