The first incident happened a couple of years ago. The place I work in is part of a large shopping centre. But my office is actually hidden kind of on a back street, and you have to leave the actual shopping centre to get there. Each individual unit is required to test the fire alarm of their premises once a week between 9am and 9:30am. On this particular morning my friend Greg had popped in to work to see me (and deliver me some McDonalds hash browns for breakfast). After discussing the events of the night before when we had gone out, got horrendously drunk, and caused general mayhem, I declared I was about to test the fire alarm. Rapidly, Greg scarpered, not one for shrill noises first thing in the morning. So, as usual, I tested the alarm. Now this was a nuisance in itself as it required me to purposefully set the alarm off for 30 seconds, so that the alarm signal would reach the control room who could verify that the alarm was in full working order. And high pitched shrieking sounds are not the best thing to hear first thing in the morning. Especially when one was suffering from a hellish hangover - which I usually was back then. So I was testing the alarm, problem free, and looking forward to the silence returning so I could sip my tea in peace and do some early morning Facebook stalking. However, all was not as it appeared. You see, I was correct in testing the damn alarm between 9 and 9:30am, but what I had failed to notice was that the alarm should ONLY be tested on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. And today was in fact Thursday.
After testing the alarm and returning to my desk where I had planned to enjoy a sneaky catnap.. .possibly under the desk, using filofaxes as pillows... my phone bleeped. A text message from Greg simply reading: "Was that you?!" Slightly bewildered, I text back, "Huh? Was what me?" Within seconds his response came: "The whole shopping centre has just been evacuated. The fire alarms in every shop went off and everyone had to leave. Seriously, the escalators and lifts stopped, all the shop shutters closed, and people are running about screaming, trying to find an exit." Hmm. Well this didn't sound great. And if there was a fire, I surely didn't know about it.
Suddenly, as if to answer my questions, a security guard from the shopping centre came racing into the shop panting and sweating, immediately followed by about four more. "Oh hey guys, what's going on?" I said casually, mildly alarmed at this strange display.
"What's going on here you mean? Where's the fire?" Oh. Suddenly it made sense.
"Well, there is no fire silly! I was just testing the fire alarm as I do every week," I explained calmly. The guards' faces slowly turned from scared and worried, to confused, and then to angry.
"You stupid girl! You can't test it on a Thursday! The shopping centre has been evacuated and three fire engines are now on there way here!" Well, this was slightly inconvenient.
"Oh.... oh God... erm.... so sorry guys... my mistake.....erm.... maybe you could ring them and tell them there services are no longer required?" I stuttered, feeling my face turn a beautiful shade of red.
One by one they left the shop, muttering things like "bloody idiot" and "silly little girl". After that, I couldn't enjoy the shopping centre for months, each time I entered, the security guys would radio each other, obviously saying terrible things about the girl who cried fire, and ganging together to stare at me. Now, I leave the fire alarm testing for someone else to do. It's just too risky!
The second unfortunate fire engine experience happened a few summers ago. My mum and I took the dogs on their daily walk at about 4pm. It was a lovely summer day, but as the evening grew nearer, a chill cast itself upon the air. 45 minutes later we arrived back at the house, opened the front gate, entered the garden, then stood staring at each other. "Erm mum, you might want to open the door now," I suggested. "Well I would, if I had any keys." Ah. Well I had no keys either. So... we were locked out.
"Damnit! We'd better go round the back and see if any windows have been left open," my mum decided. So off we went 'round the back' on a quest for open windows and ways to effectively break into our own house. We didn't have a key to the back gate either, so I had to climb up onto the seven foot fence, then throw myself over it landing in the bin. "Bugger!" I exclaimed, wiping empty yoghurt pots and mouldy bread from myself before opening the back gate to let my mum and the dogs in. Now, before we bought our house, it was once converted into flats, and so there is a fire escape ladder all the way up. And from our vantage point in the garden, we could see that none of the windows were open, but still it was decided that I should climb the ladder anyway just to double check. Luckily, I am not scared of heights, however, I do get vertigo. Quite bad vertigo. I only need to be on a first floor balcony to experience the overwhelming urge to throw myself off. If I stand on any sort of ledge, even if I am stood too close to the kerb, I usually roll off, or appear to kind of launch myself down. So climbing a ladder is not a great idea for me. But my mum was wearing a dress, so naturally I had to do it. After cautiously climbing whilst taking great care for several minutes, I had reached the third rung.
"Get a move on Ashleigh!" My impatient mother cried, just loud enough to throw me off balance, enough so that I fell straight off the ladder. Admittedly I was only a few feet from the ground, but still managed to land on my back and roll around shrieking for several moments, before realising, there was no sympathy here. My dog, Saphy, did try and mount me though. Lucky me. Before long we established that there was well and truly was no way into the house, and resigned ourselves to the fact that a locksmith was called for. To our dismay, the locksmith we managed to ring was going to take at least an hour to get there, and the price of the lock combined with the callout fee was just tipping £100. Great.
As we sat in the garden, silenced by the unpleasantness of the situation, the air cooled, and the hunger grew. It was getting towards 6pm and neither of us had eaten since lunchtime. Plus, whilst sitting in the cold, it quickly became apparent that one of our neighbours were cooking their dinner. Mmm yes that familiar smell of cooked chicken, such a nice homely smell. We were practically drooling, the dogs were definitely drooling, when suddenly.... "SHIT I left the chicken on!" Good job my mum had an excellent memory.
"What?! And you just remembered? What will happen!?" I squealed, images of the house burning down taking over my mind. As it happened, she had left the chicken boiling in a pan before we left to walk the dogs (not the best of ideas) and it was still bubbling away on the stove.
So we rung 999. "Hello, this isn't an emergency... but it could be very soon. You see, I have locked myself out of the house, and unfortunately I forgot that I have left the gas hob on with a large pan of chicken boiling away. Now, I have called for a locksmith who will take over an hour to get here, and in that time, there is a strong chance that all the water will boil away and my kitchen will set on fire." She smiled at me calmly whilst telling the operator the story. And, much to our delight, they declared that it was deemed an emergency, and the fire rescue service were on there way. Excellent. So my mum went to go wait in the front garden, I remained in the back. After only what seemed like thirty seconds, I noticed the distant howl of a siren. It grew louder and louder, until it became apparent that there was more than one siren. Our street is just off a main road that is usually busy, especially at that time of around 6pm.
Moments later my phone rang, and I answered it to my mum's distressed voice. "Ashleigh! They've sent two fire engines, the whole road has been cordoned off and a fairly large crowd has gathered out here. Everyone's looking!" I chuckled, glad I was hidden in the safety of the back garden, able to escape embarrassment.
"Well what's going on out there now?" I asked.
"It looks like the firemen are climbing a ladder to break into the office window," my mum responded, seemingly suspiciously unattached from the situation.
"What! Where are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm with the crowd that gathered of course, pretending it's not my house. I don't want to look stupid in front of all these neighbours." Of course, my mum, tactically had hidden herself in the crowd, neglecting any responsibility for the current drama.Well I wasn't going to go out there, I would remain safely in the back garden and wait. Until.... oh God... someone was in the house. Yes it was unmistakable, a dark figure had just passed by the window. I edged closer, pressing my face against the glass, waiting for the mysterious house invading suspect to reappear. Pressing myself closer still to the glass, I squinted to have a better look when...
"ARGHHHH!!! BURGLAR!" I screamed, turning and running in the opposite direction, desperate to evade the horrific intruder who had appeared right before me in the window. And in my most melodramatic style possible, I crashed straight into barbecue stand and falling flat on my face, temporarily dazing myself. Before I knew it, said intruder was standing over me chuckling.
"Now then love, was it you who left the chicken on?" Oh God, not only had he burgled my house, but had found and probably eaten my mum's chicken! This was bad. Before I could respond, several more men appeared over me, one of them shouting "Lads, come see this out here!" And another few followed, pulling me to my feet. Of course, they were all in uniform, they were in fact the firemen who had broken in to my house to open it up from the inside. Not some crazy uniformed gang of chicken-thieves, scavenging for a free meal together. By this time, my mum had re-emerged, looking chuffed that our house was brimming with firemen (albeit quite old ones), thanking them profusely for saving the day, and apologising for the 'scene' that I had caused. One by one they all left the house, bemused at the deranged mother and daughter combination, and probably off to recite the story to their mates in the pub. Needless to say, we fed the chicken to the dogs and got a take away for dinner that night, and the memory still haunts me.
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