The good neighbor award of the week goes to. . . me!
Yes, I saved my neighbor from a horrible, choking, smoke-inhalation death–or possibly a fried-to-a-crisp burning death. He left rice and beans on the stove, his phone upstairs, fell asleep on the couch downstairs, didn’t hear the fire alarm, nor did his dog panic at the smoke.
But I heard the alarm and smelled the smoke. And, being smarter than a dog, I tried to call my neighbor. He didn’t answer. A light was on in his basement. I know because I walked by his house, sidewalk and alley. I didn’t want to call 911 because that’s for emergencies, and was this really an emergency?
I asked my roommate’s opinion. He shrugged, said it would probably be good to call. He didn’t call as I’d secretly hoped, so I had to call. And it worked out fine! The firemen came, the neighbor woke up, the pot of rice and beans went in the trash, and the firemen blew the smoke out of the house.
After they left, my neighbor returned my call and asked me to come out. He gave me a hug and told me how grateful he was that I did something. How weird is it that I was so reluctant to call? And yet, I think I’d be reluctant again.