I’m one of the stupid people. Set up: I’m brushing my teeth. There’s a candle lit. The Wife loves candles, but this one’s strong enough to kill insects. So I flash-decide to blow it out. I lean over and do so. Using a mouth full of toothpaste. Damn.
I’m one of the stupid people. My brothers and I – well, we were young lads at the time but still old enough to know the particulars of gasoline— we’re home alone for a spot one afternoon. We notice that water’s gotten all over the top of the gas can Daddy kept in a leaky storage cabinet off the kitchen. Mind you, the can itself is sealed watertight. Dinged and bent metal can. We’ve heard our father cuss about water in his gas tank enough times to know that bad gas is not a joke; apparently one drop of water could kill a station wagon, so we decide to test the gas by pouring a bit into a saucer (in the kitchen sink, mind you— safety first, science second; the opened can was at least a good 12 inches away). Once in the saucer. . .we drop a match on it. Explosions galore. Flame whooshes up to sear the paint off the upper sink cabinet, older brother snatches the can away from the ignition point, making sure to liberally sprinkle us younger ones, next older bro manages to slap the faucet on while we’re all gonna die, the 2 youngest have now flown so fast out of the kitchen that they met their younger selves. In the midst of all this I achieved a higher state of being and remember thinking in capital letters well before internet communication, OH. SHIT.
Fire got put out. Cabinetry was smoky and fucked. Mama and Daddy would be home twenty minutes, tops. We boys were smoky and fucked. No amount of painting, cleaning, airing out the kitchen, and knowing their babies were alive and well would cover the fact we’d potentially burned the kitchen down. Our being fucked was reinforced by my oldest brother (he might have been 16 at the time) waiting till after we’d finished the immediate clean up to say, “Yep, that gas was still good.” Damn.
As one of the stupid people I feel compelled to apologize for all the idiocy you’ve faced today. It was surely a lot. There was the dumbass that waited to put his left turn signal on until the light turned green, effectively trapping you behind him. There was the kid who thought it’d be manly to shatter a glass bottle in front of your house while you weren’t home. Then that woman, the way she called your phone all pissy and indignant about the level of service your company provided. If only she’d dialed the right number. I feel you. I feel responsible. How can I stop your pain?
Watch this. It’ll do.