Sunday night:
In a deep sleep. Like I was drowning. I was sleeping over my friend Allison’s, who lives in the Village. We had watched some of The Office on DVD – which is one of the funniest freakin’ things I have ever seen in my life. I felt almost – voracious about it. LIke: I need to see the ENTIRE series RIGHT NOW.
Then we went to sleep. I was in a deep black pit of sleep the second my head hit the pillow.
Strangely, like an echo, it was all very unreal … I heard someone screaming. It took a long long time for the screams to reach my consciousness. I have no idea how long they went on, but I do know I fought waking up. Like a maniac. I must have heard the screams for 10, 15 minutes before I finally woke.
What really woke me up was Allison waking up next to me – she was gasping, “What the hell is going on?” and getting on her knees to look out her window.
It was a man screaming outside. Screaming over and over and over the same word:
“OFFICER! OFFICER! OFFICER!”
Only add to that a New York accent, and his own speech pattern, and it sounded like this:
“OFF-UH-SUH! OFF-UH-SUH! OFF-UH-SUH!”
Over and over and over and over again.
Allison and I, on our knees, groggy, looked out the window and saw, across the street, a massive fire in what was the trash area in front of a building. It was a conflagration. The flames were huge, high, and licking up against the first-story windows of this building.
It was 3 in the morning. Nobody was up.
This man – who was screaming “OFF-UH-SUH” over and over – was obviously a nocturnal fringe-dweller type. His clothes were ragged, torn apart … but he was the hero of the night. He woke up the block. He did not stop. He did not give up.
He dashed up past the flames, and banged on the front door of the building. Screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t bang on the first-story window, because the flames were too high.
It was terrifying.
Allison immediately called 911 and reported the fire.
Mr. “Off-uh-suh” man was a one-man fire department. Allison eventually put on her slippers and ran downstairs to help him.
There was a Vespa parked at the end of the block, with a little blanket over it. He ran over to it and yanked the covering off – the Vespa crashed into the car behind it – but he didn’t care. He ran back to the flames and tossed the blanket over it. Which did some good, for a second, but then flames erupted forth again.
This entire time, he never stopped screaming.
It did the job.
Finally, from my perch at Allison’s window, I could see sleepy people peeking out of the first-floor apartment.
Immediately (the rush of adrenaline and survival-instinct is intense) a man in his pajamas (who lived in that apartment) came racing out onto the front steps, with a garbage can filled with water – he poured it onto the flames – and then raced back inside. Another woman who had been awakened ran out onto the front steps in her nightgown, with a cooking pot full of water and dumped THAT onto the flames. The conflagration continued.
Mr. Garbage-Can Man kept racing in and out of his house, filling up his garbage can, dumping it onto the flames, and running back inside.
I loved Garbage-Can Man. I was like: Good for you, dude. Get that water, dump it on … keep going … you’re doing GREAT.
The fire department arrived in, literally, 2 minutes. (Which is comforting. The speed of the response.)
Must have been a slow night, though, because 3 trucks and 20 firemen showed up. It felt like the entire FDNY was outside my window.
My God. The vision on the street below was enough to provide me with fireman fantasy-fodder for weeks to come. Allison, who came back upstairs, knelt beside me, and we just watched. It became a people-watching fest, now that we knew the fire would be put out. Nobody hurt.
A man emerged from his apartment, and watched the whole thing on his steps.
Allison murmured, “Look at his slippers.”
I looked, and they were these big fuzzy slippers. He was a grown man, in his 30s, with a robe on, and big fuzzy slippers.
The vulnerability of people … at night …
We just LAUGHED with love for the slipper-man across the way.
And we also fell in love with every fireman. Stomping around, all with their separate jobs, working together, in their big black FDNY ponchos with day-glo yellow stripes …
The “Off-uh-suh” hero had disappeared.
But he was definitely the Man of the Hour. In my mind!
Twenty firemen? Are you sure you weren’t just having a wet dream?
I swear. 20 firemen.
Like I said. Fantasy fodder for weeks and weeks to come.
I wished that I had a black slip and stilettos, so that I could come down onto the stoop and watch them fight the fire, all casual, and “whatever”, like: “This is just what I wear to bed … No biggie … Thanks so much for your help, firemen … We so appreciate it…”
Firemen get all the chicks.
Twenty firemen responding to an apartment-building fire is actually perfectly reasonable. After all, they don’t know what they’ll have on scene when they arrive; and many of the firemen may be used to evacuate the building, search for missing persons, and so on. Some will also remain on backup in case any of their people get in trouble.
Ben –
You’re probably right! It just seemed like an enormous crowd huddled over a trash fire.
However: the fire was definitely out of control and could have become even more of a disaster – if the fire department hadn’t arrived. It was potentially a very bad inferno.
And there were these two fire-inspectors who stayed behind after the crowd left – looking at the windows and the damage done.
It was great to see the division of labor. Amazing teamwork.
It’s a shame that that’s when most emergencies happen…in the dead of night. I’m glad no one got hurt.
…and Fuzzy Bunny slippers DO rock. Ever since ‘Real Genius’.
I have no comment, I just like saying “fireman fantasy-fodder.”
The phrase just WORKS, you know what I mean?
I think it’s the alliteration that does it.
Being a heterosexual male, I can only wonder what fireman fantasy-fodder is like. All I can come up with is the top-of-the-firetruck scene from the God-awful Backdraft.