smokin' skirt

Today ten minutes after C left to do class at Hubbard Street, I heard blood curdling screeches coming from the hallway.

I heard Grace come out of her apartment asking what was going on. I quickly changed out of my shameful 1:30 pm outfit of flannel pajamas and whipped on my new denim skirt, silver high heels and my green cloud t-shirt. Then I opened my door to chaos in the stairwell--people running downstairs and yelling about god knows what. I couldn't make out what was going on.

I thought maybe something had happened to our elderly shoe thief neighbour but she was nowhere to be found. I heard someone say "fire" right as I smelled acrid smoke.

Pleased that I had changed out of my schleppy outfit into something more than presentable, I only needed to grab my cell phone and bag and head out as the rest of the neighbours emerged from their apartments.

Within moments five fire trucks arrived one by one. All of us were huddled under the awning trying to stay out of the rain. Many people were barefoot and clutching pets, several women were crying. Black smoke was billowing from an apartment one floor above our apartment.

The tiny (4'7"?) birdlike, elderly French lady who lived in that apartment was crying and clearly in shock. Her entire left shin was burnt in a horrible black and yellow patch that was flaking off. Her hair was singed all over and her face looked like it was severely sunburned. A mystery man who doesn't live in the building had carried her down the stairs and then disappeared.(!?!)

I tried to hold my umbrella over her while a doctor in the building tried to calm her down. We eventually got a blanket and then a firefighter brought her a chair while we waited for the ambulance.

She didn't want to go to the hospital and kept saying her money was in the apartment. Needless to say, she was taken away by ambulance. I called our slum landlord to find out whether she had any family members for us to call and to inform them their building was on fire.

It was all very tense as we looked on, fearful that the fire would spread to other apartments and that there were people or pets still inside the building.

The first firefighters went through the side entrance which, as usual, was blocked with heaps of garbage and discarded furniture. They hurled it all out of the way while another fireman broke down the door of the building next door to approach the fire from that side. Yet another fireman climbed the ladder and busted into Judy's apartment through the window. There were probably thirty firemen on the scene.

When it was finally over, we went in to make sure our apartments were ok. All were fine except the little old lady's place, which was completely destroyed. The hallway on her floor was still smoky and the walls, ceiling and floor were black with thick soot.

The owner showed up and was angrily pulled into the lady's apartment by the fire chief. Several workmen along with our normally absentee superintendent started cleaning the building immediately. Floors were being washed throughout the building, all the garbage in the hall and stairwells was being hauled out, inches of water from the hosing were mopped up and several men were washing the third floor walls and ceilings. All of their washing didn't even make a dent so the third floor will obviously have to be repainted.

Most of us stayed around, too shaken up to go in our apartments, and complained to the firefighters and police about our landlord, the blocked hallway, the lack of superintendent. He suggested we call 311 which we've all done on several occasions.

When one of the cops overheard what we pay in rent, he told us we should check out his nearby building and/or management company. That got us talking about the size of our apartments and led to a few of us touring each others places. Ours is one of the smaller one bedrooms but I'm pleased to report our layout and interior decorating are superior.

I went home to shower and then remembered the lady was worried she had money in her apartment so I went back upstairs to tell the police. They found her stash and gave it to her neighbour, Christine, who is our unofficial building manager.

I heard Christine outside with her children after my shower and hung my head out the window to crassly ask how much money was in the envelope. She said she didn't look which shows who is and who isn't the investigative journalist type in this building, for god's sake.

Speaking of which, I ran into Bernadette, a writer who works at CNN, on her way in to check on her apartment. When she said she got a call at work telling her about the fire, I said, "Speaking of which...can we talk about work when this all passes?" I really am a shameless piece of shit. Or desperate for work. Or both.

Finally C came home to hear about the horror and excitement he'd missed. Truth told I think he was a bit jealous that he missed the biggest thing to happen in our building since Judy got into a fight with the Russian whore. Nothing too earth shattering happens here unlike the old days. Judy has dozens of horror stories from before the renovation. I shudder to imagine the scene when a tenant was found dead for more than a week in her apartment. Or the uproar when it was discovered that the previous super was running a prostitution ring out of vacationing tenants apartments and on the rooftop. Or the stench in the building from the lady afflicted with severe OCD who suffocated to death under the piles of garbage she couldn't bring herself to throw out.

In any case, we decided the best way for me to wind down was to go to the movies. We saw "The 40 year old Virgin". One of our neighbours was there trying to add some levity to her day, too.

It worked. We all gave it two thumbs up.

The little French bird lady is in critical condition and is heavily sedated. Her nephew from Buffalo is coming down to see her tomorrow.

Firemen have been coming by all evening to see what they can learn from this fire--and much to the delight of the single ladies in the building, to flirt like crazy.

I can still smell the smoke.
the outfit