Just when I think my blog is old enough and boring enough to shut down because my life is really not that interesting or amusing and I’m not sure what I would write on here THE END FOREVER, the world raises an eyebrow and is all, OH REALLY? And gives me some really good material.

Like this past Tuesday night, for example.

I left my apartment around 11 in the morning that day for a long babysitting shift and I heard something in my garage as I was leaving.

(I live on the top floor of a family rowhouse in Queens which means there’s only three floors and a private garage which I am only explaining because New York City is not all fancy elevator doorman buildings full of people who look like Patrick Dempsey and I don’t want there to be any confusion about why there is a two car GARAGE in my apartment building. It’s because it’s not really an apartment building. My God, that was boring.)

It sounded like a car was running in there but I dismissed the idea because I was running late and why would a car be running in a closed garage, someone probably just got home, oooo something bright and shiny I NEED A CUP OF COFFEE! And I went on my merry way.

(It should also be stated that because it costs one thousand million dollars to live here, people in Queens do crazy things like rent out parking spaces in their garage. Therefore, I do not actually know the people who keep vehicles in the little garage because they do not live in my house.)

I had plans to meet Alayna and Sylvi for dinner after I babysat and wasn’t planning on stopping home in between but during the course of the afternoon, something tragic happened: the zipper on my boot broke. IT JUST BROKE! And wouldn’t zip up! CAN YOU IMAGINE IT? So I had to borrow a pair of shoes from the mom I work for except she wears a size smaller than me so the only thing that fit was a pair of her black crocs.

Black crocs, that is, with one single tiny decoration charm punched through one of the holes that says MOMS ROCK.

I cheerfully sported these, ROCKED THEM OUT IN FACT, with a pair of skinny black jeans which made me look…like a clown? I guess? A clown who thinks moms rock? Which, I mean, they do? My feet just looked so large and ridiculous. You might think I would rise above how I looked and just get on the subway to meet my friends for dinner but you guys, I COULD NOT GO THROUGH WITH IT. And in my defense, I was not far from home so I decided to pop in, change shoes and head out.

As I approached my house, I heard it: the distinct rumbling of a key in the ignition, in my garage.

WHAT? COME ON.

At this point, it was nearly 7:00 at night.

I opened the door and was hit in the face with the smell of exhaust in the hallway.

That’s also about the time I heard the bleating of the carbon monoxide detector going off on the third floor. (Which my roommate installed: HIGH FIVE!)

I took a deep breath, propped the front door open for circulation and dialed 911, staying outside because WHAT IS HAPPENING EVERYONE!?!?!?!?

I informed the lady on the other end of 911 that there was a vehicle running in my garage and I did not have keys to the garage and could not get in and TOXIC FUMES RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

She said she would dispatch a cop car and hung up.

Within three minutes, someone else from 911 called me back (which is so freaky, to have 911 calling YOU. It was all I could do not to pick up the phone and just scream as loud as I could. Just for fun! Just making sure my tax dollars are being put to good use!) and this woman, in my opinion, should probably not be working as a 911 operator.

“Hi, did you just call 911?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a problem in a garage?”

“Yes. There’s a vehicle running in my garage which is locked and I can’t get in.”

“Whose vehicle is it?”

“I…don’t know. Someone who keeps a vehicle in my garage?”

“So this is a parking garage?”

“What? No. This is the garage of a private family home.”

“How many people are in the garage?”

“No one is in the garage that I know of.”

“Did you look?”

“I CANNOT GET IN.”

“What else is in the garage?”

!!!!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS? YOU CANNOT MAKE THIS UP.

At least, I cannot. This is my real life.

The best question she asked me was “Did you call the fire department?”

I completely blanked out for a second thinking WHAT ON EARTH IS THE NUMBER FOR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT?

It’s 911. In case you didn’t know.

“No!” I sputtered. “I called YOU! Was I supposed to call some other number for the fire department?!”

“Nope,” replied the operator. “This is the number. I’ll call them for you and have them come by to check it out too.”

WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING, 911 OPERATOR OF LINGUISTIC MYSTERY!???

Pretty soon, two cops showed up and together we all waited for the fire department.

Luckily enough, only one other person in my building was home and she hadn’t been there long. She said she had smelled the exhaust but her apartment had smelled fine so she went in. She came out when she heard my alarm going off upstairs and THANK GOD, what I’m saying is I probably saved her life. No big deal, you guys.

One of the cops thought he was awesome so he kept asking me what I thought was going on in the garage.

I should state that the thought had already crossed my mind, VERY EARLY ON, that there are few reasons to put your keys in your car and rev it up in a locked garage. One reason, actually. And that would be to take your own life. So as I am remaining calm and collected and dialing numbers and talking to 911 operators who have no idea what is going on, there is an undercurrent of fear in my brain, a steady monologue of WHAT IF that keeps wondering if when we finally open the garage, there is going to be a car running and also a dead body.

“So, you think some guy’s dead in there?” asked the cop.

“I don’t know.”

“YOU GOTTA HAVE A HUNCH, LADY. YOU THINK SOMETHIN IS UP? WHY ELSE WOULD THAT CAR BE RUNNIN’?”

“UM. I DO NOT KNOW.”

“YOU THINK THIS IS SOME CSI SHIT???”

What. On. Earth.

By the way, NYPD cops actually talk like the ones on Law & Order. He called me lady. And also, what is this guy’s problem!? Was he accusing me of murdering someone and covering it up like a suicide? BECAUSE I FELT INTERROGATED! And I did not have a lawyer present.

“He was probably just flirting with you,” suggested my roommate later.

Oh. Is that how you flirt? You scream that I must have a hunch about a possible dead body in a garage, all CSI shit?

Sexy.

Also, I should mention that all night I was wearing my MOMS ROCK Crocs! So, that made me feel very alluring.

Not one but TWO fire trucks then showed up in front of the house and a very important fireman with a big hat came up to me and was all, YOU HAVE A KEY TO THE GARAGE? and I said no, I did not, my landlord moved to California awhile ago and…

He didn’t stick around to listen as he burst into my apartment and hacked down a door with an axe.

As you do.

A few dozen firemen stormed the apartment taking carbon monoxide readings while a few others opened the large garage door and what did we find?

Not a dead body, thank God. And actually not even a car.

Just a motorcycle.

With the keys in the ignition, of course, running like there was no tomorrow.

Some idiot WHO DRIVES A MOTORCYCLE decided to leave that motorcycle running in the closed garage and just took off for the day! THANK YOU SIR!!!

I was pretty annoyed but mostly relieved because no dead bodies, etc. etc.

And none of the other crap I thought might be inside was actually inside.

PICTURE TIME.

WHAT WAS ACTUALLY IN THE GARAGE:

WHAT I THOUGHT I WAS IN THE GARAGE:

Anyway. PHEW, AMIRITE?

Basically we stood outside for an hour or so while some really attractive firemen stormed into our apartment with fans and aired it out.

Turns out a concerning level of carbon monoxide is around 30.

The reading in my apartment?

500.

The reading in the garage and the hallway next to it?

900.

The motorcycle had been running so long that the carbon monoxide had obviously leaked to neighboring apartments. No one was hurt and I can’t really stop thinking about what would’ve happened if someone was home at my house during the day, as I often am, taking a nap or tapping away at her laptop.

I’m so grateful for our carbon monoxide detectors (though who on earth thought I would ever need them?) and I also feel a little confidence boost in myself. I may cry easily at commercials but damn if I don’t keep my head on straight in an emergency and call 911 and do whatever I need to do. That’s a good thing, right?

And now, I am going to find the guy who owns that motorcycle and kill him.

OH HO HO JUST KIDDING.

I am going to give him a stern talking to. And see what I can do about evicting him from our garage.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Thank you ever so much, FDNY! I hope I don’t need you back here anytime soon.

Love,

Laura