Rick and I are standing on our balcony watching the rain, trying to decide if we are going to go for a bike ride.
And as we walk inside we realize the fire alarm in our building is going off.
Our building is in a square shape and having not used the steps as much as we should were a bit confused as to how to get out. Eventually we did.
Thinking it was just some kid playing around we figured it wouldn't take long until we could go back inside.
We were wrong.
It was some dumb kid, on our floor in fact, but instead they had caught something on fire on their stove.
Needless to say 2 fire trucks with 8 fire-people (I say that cause one was a woman) with 3 fans come running in to get rid of all the smoke.
Twenty minutes later we are allowed to go back in.
As we walk down our hallway we realize how smoky it is and there are two fire-people holding the door to our apartment open.
Of course Rick and I freak out thinking we did something, even though we know it couldn't have been us, we weren't cooking...
The fire-people told us they just needed our apartment to get the smoke out. It's a good thing we didn't have any furniture or else it would smell like smoke now too.
Everything happens for a reason. And in much an exciting way.
Love,
your thank-god-we-were-furniture-less oregonians
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