Another Filler Story From the Past

Since I've been spending most of my days moping around the house, trying not to be too depressed about the little information I have about the baby, I can't think clearly enough to find something funny to blog about my in my life. So I'm giving you a "filler" story of epic proportions. This is the story of how I became known as "Pyro Girl" and also am never allowed near a campfire again. I swear, I am a magnet for crazy.

In the beginning of my second (and last) year of college, my "wing" (term used for a group of girls from the same area of the dorm) and I went on a camping trip with our staff adviser and his family. Since I had just gotten back from an adventure filled summer at Glacier National Park, the group deemed me as "camp fire-maker" (Me Og. Me make fire with rock and...gas-o-line.) with another girl, Alison, who also had camping experience. Our group had two sites, one at the top of a little incline, and one at the bottom. The rest of the group was at site at the bottom of the incline setting up tents and things, while Alison and I were at the top of the incline staring at the fire pit and stack of wood.

I suppose I failed to mention I had never in my vast experience of camping (really only including that summer) had ever built a campfire, least of all, by myself. None the less, here we were. So we managed to get a small smoldering fire going that was mostly smoke, but knowing that the rest of the group expected much more, we felt a bit pressured. I can't remember which of us suggested it, probably by me, but somehow we thought it would be a good idea to pour a little gasoline on what little fire we had to help it along.

So, there Alison stood, over the fire pit pouring gasoline from the container onto the fire. Can you guess what happened next? I couldn't at the time, but now in my wise years and more extensive camping experience, I could see it coming a mile away. That's right. The gasoline container burst into flames in Alison's hand, she dropped it immediately, on the ground, outside of the fire pit. Right next to a forest of dry leaves. Suddenly we were standing in front of a huge forest fire.

You know how in movies, when something bad is about to happen, something dangerous, every single time, the characters just stand there staring at it for way longer than necessary until you want to scream at them to "RUN!"? Well, that's a bit like how it happened. We just stood there, kind of in awe, kind of in panic. I didn't know what to do. I'm not a fire fighter. But I saw a water bottle on a picnic table so I grabbed it and tossed the water onto the fire. Of course, that only made it more mad.

My friend told me what happened after that. Apparently, I walked down to the other campsite, calmly and coolly, and said, "Umm...Fire." as non-chalantly as if I were having a conversation about the weather. And I pointed. By that time, there was no mistaking that there was a fire, a big fire. It was easy to see even over the hill. Everyone went running up to help put it out. All the while, I was picturing the whole forest burning to the ground while families flee in panic screaming for their children. And it would be all my fault (and Alison. I wasn't going down alone).

But it didn't go that way. Thank God is all I can say. We (by "we" I mean everyone else) were able to put the fire out. But I was affectionately known as "Pyro" after that. And no one trusts me around fire. I think they should just get over it, don't you?