As the world’s largest package delivery company, UPS runs one of the most reliable operations around. With a fleet of 209 aircraft flying to over 200 countries and territories around the globe, issues occassionally arise with a plane or flight crew. When this happens, we rely on our “Hot Spares” program to recover stranded packages and maintain service to our customers.

Here’s an inside look at the Hot Spares program with a UPS flight crew in cockpit.

Up to 40% of residents of Honduran capital Tegucigalpa may have to evacuate the city if urgent measures are not taken to combat the area’s severe potable water shortage, according to national water authority Sanaa.

The current water supply is insufficient to meet the capital’s needs, and the problem will only worsen as the rainy season is not expected to start until May 30, [2010] Sanaa head Jack Arévalo told BNamericas.

To combat the water shortage, Sanaa will begin operating 10 deep wells, which could increase the water supply by up to 250l/s, Arévalo said.

Authorities are presently seeking funding to begin work on the wells, which Arévalo hopes will begin operating as soon as possible.

“Due to Honduras’ present political situation, all economic aid has temporarily stopped. We are insisting that the government make an effort and provide funding from its own resources. The problem is that the country has additional problems to deal with, for example in the public health area,” Arévalo said.

In November [2009], Sanaa declared an emergency in Tegucigalpa due to the water shortage, and began implementing severe water rationing across the city.

Source: Indiana Corrales, BNamericas.com [subscription site], 17 Dec 2009

The country’s infrastructure, of which the power system forms an essential part, is exposed to a variety of threats. Unlike countries more regularly exposed to the impact of such threats, South African society is relatively unprepared for the associated disruptions. The increasing dependency of society on electricity, and the potential for such threats materialising, requires that deliberate predetermined measures to be implemented to manage such emergencies and enhance the resilience of the country… (more)

Saturday night I was the ecstatic audience to my tax-dollars well-spent.

Out for an evening of gustatory revelation followed by cinematographic indoctrination with my good lady (Elizabeth), I thought perchance to catch a look at the decorations atop Parliament Hill (what with it being the season of high holiness and Olympic vindictiveness). Thus did I direct mine ride up Kent Street, and ’twas there my steel dragon did need pull over not once, not twice, but, yea, thrice to permit the passage of those knights of white-blue order, the Ontario Provincial Police.

“Ah!” didst I say. “Good God, give thanks! These men and women of laudable service must indeed be off to rectify the wrongs and injustices that do reprehensibly afflict our nation’s capital. What excitement will they see? A young man, shot to death in heated debate? An old lady, toppled by assault of the heart? An attempt upon the life of good Lord Harper? Dear Jesus, save us!”

Alas, so far was I from truth that must I do need wonder whether I am not perchance afflicted by an illness of magnitude inestimable.

I arrived at the corner of Somerset with dread setting into my heart, a fearful fearing of things unknown and, surely, a sympathetic worry for the men of white-and-blue. Here, at the congress of streets, were those chariots of righteous fire – the war howdahs of the po’! The intersection blocked, traffic rerouted; “Dear Gods,” I cursed, “what horror doth afflict our fair city?”

you have nothing to lose but a gold medal in hockey and maybe bobsleigh

‘Twas none other than the Torch – the Torch of the Olympians! It was carried aloft by a man, slight and unimpressive (indeed, I could probably beat him up), wearing a silver-blazoned jumper most ugly. And the men and women of the white-blue order – those crusaders of righteousness, those long-arms of peace and good governance – stood with him, ensconcing the moment forever with their CoolPix.

Yes, hear me right did you do! The police stopped traffic for a photographic opportunity! But, worse still: the torch – oh, how it pains me to say – was unlit. Unfuckinglit. ‘Twas nought but a plastic wand; the torch-bearer, a feeble boy playing at magician; the police, his sick pathetic apprentices.

In all seriousness, what the fuck. Canada, please refund my taxes, because I have been defrauded. Hey, coppers: don’t flash your lights, ring your sirens, and have me pull over to the side of a busy downtown street – in short, don’t convince me there’s a fucking emergency going on­ – so you can show your kids and family pictures of yourself with the torch runner. You’re still a fucking failure, policeman; get over it. And hey, Olympic committee: try to keep it real by keeping the torch lit. Maybe let it go out in Regina or Winnipeg – I mean, nobody pays attention to the prairies anyway. But in the National Capital? Come ON.

-bn

Courtesy of M3nch13 (via Flickr)

‘Tis the season. As the holidays get a little closer, severe winter storms are making their way across the U.S.  And quite frankly it’s too cold out there.

In many places wind chills are down below zero, snow and ice are accumulating quickly and strong winds have knocked down power lines. Which for some folks means it’s a good day to stay home and make a snowman. But the wintry mix has also left others trapped without electricity or heat. Don’t let the winter weather get the best of you. Preparing for the worst can ensure you and your family are warm and safe no matter where you are or how cold it gets.

Here are just a few things you can do to stay warm:

• Warm stuff cheap – Salvation Army, Goodwill, community center
• Winterize your home and car
• Get help with gas and electric bills
• Make a winter survival kit

Keep your eye on the weather with NOAA’s storm updates. Also, visit The Beehive for a great resource section and more information about what to do in extreme winter weather.

Rant: We walked in and found a patient dead >10 minutes, min.

Rave: We ran a code.

Rant: We had to run a code on a dead guy.

Rave: Codes are very exciting even on a dead guy.

Rant: Totally unexpected on a ’stable’ guy.

Rave: I participated in a code, in fact started the breathing for it (not mouth to mouth – gross)

Rant: He shouldn’t have been coded, he didn’t want this, but never signed DNR stuff.

Rave: We got a sinus rhythm back.

Rant: On the way to ICU they lost it.

Rave: But got it back!

Rant: But lost it again.

Rave: His labwork was abysmal and there was NO chance of getting him back.

Rant: It may have been caught in time if a Dr had ordered a urinalysis.

Rant: I broke a rib during CPR when I took over compressions.

Rant: Diabetic Ketoacidosis is a BITCH. Diabetics, check your blood sugar, please.

Rant: A nurse bought him a new pair of nice shoes just two days prior. I had to collect and bag his brand new shoes.

Rave: Really good experience, if extremely conflicting in nature.

Rant: The image of him frozen in time and death is seared into my brain in a way I can’t adequately describe.

Well, I missed a payment to Capital One last month (November).  The due date was towards the end of the month and I was a couple of weeks late paying it due to a short paycheck.  I don’t even use this card.  I just have a balance due to some emergencies and no cash flow at the time.

Let me say I am rarely late paying my bills, but things do happen in life that make it impossible to pay something on time.. i.e. short paycheck due to illness (don’t have sick leave where I work).

Well Capital One did NOT send me a reminder that I was late, not even an email.  Instead they sent it straight to a collection agency (owned by them).  Needless to say they were paid double (actually more than double) this month and I sent an email voicing my displeasure at how they handled this situation.  I also told them I would be paying the card off and canceling it ASAP.  I also told them I would be recommending to friends, family and co-workers to pay theirs off and cancel it.

I could understand if I were habitually late or habitually missed a month, but I’m not and I don’t.

So here are my suggestions for handling payments to Capital One:

1.  Don’t be late with a payment.

2.   Pay more than the minimum amount due.

3.  Pay it off and cancel the card.

4.  If life throws you a curve, contact them and tell them you intend to pay, but it will be late and state the reason why.

5.  Never get another Capital One card as long as you live.

The credit crunch has hit me hard. I haven’t lost my job (so far), but my income has decreased significantly (about 25%), the threat of redundancy has loomed over me for the whole of 2009 and is likely to be an issue again in 2010. During this time of difficulties I’ve had to tighten my belt, to cut costs, I’ve had to crunch my own credit, look at my needs and expenses and try to put together a back-up fund for emergencies.

It has been hard. The credit crunch was unexpected by most people, including me, and because there was no warning I found myself unprepared.

To give you some background, I have a full-time job (the joy!), I live in rented accommodation (which until recently I enjoyed alone). I enjoy good food, regular holidays, lots of tv channels, unrestricted broadband internet access, buying things when I want them, not having to save forever to get an iPod touch, and being in control of my money.

That is until I realised how precariously balanced I was on the financial divide. The divide between the haves and have-nots. Because of the credit-crisis it’s not so much of a divide any more, and there’s no border patrol stopping you going over to the other side now.

I plan to put together a series of articles aimed at making you look at your money and getting you to think about how you spend it. This isn’t a get rich quick scheme, it’s not a 12-step debt removal system, it’s just a common-sense way of looking at money and how you use it. The idea is to take in this information and use it to save yourself some money without having to go without too much.

Next time: Budgeting

I desperately want to write about a recent event but cannot for legal reasons. Fuck. That is all.

Tuesday morning, right in front of my classroom, a student went into cardiac arrest.  My room is in a pretty isolated part of the building.  Luckily I was in the hall when he fell.  I ran to get the nurse.  The nurse and school police officer performed CPR on him until the paramedics arrived.  I am trained in CPR and was next in line if either of them tired.

It was a very intense, scary scene for well over 30 minutes.  He had to be shocked twice as well as receive other life-saving procedures.  It was deja vu in a sense.  I could not stop crying as I watched the paramedics work so hard to save his 19-year-old life.  The school police officer was also equally shook up having lost his own 17-year-old son a few months prior.

He was finally rescuitated and transported to the hospital.  Wednesday he had open heart surgery to repair faulty valves.  If necessary, they may install a pacemaker.

I wondered why I had to bear witness to this trauma.  It brought back so many painful memories.  This was also the day I ran into my SIL’s husband.  And of course, before I went to sleep that night, I saw a commerical on television and the man’s name was the same as my husband’s.

Yesterday on the way home for school Nicholas was telling me that their principal asked them to pray for one of the 8th grader’s brother who had a heart attack at school.  I didn’t go into details but I told him that I was aware of what happened because it happened right in front of me.  He seemed very surprised–and actually I was, too. What a small world we live in.

Neither one of us mentioned my husband, but I’m sure he was thinking about him as I was.

But it also made me appreciate first responders even more.  They are so efficient, composed, and determined to save lives.  I saw this firsthand with my husband as well as with the young man.  I really have a lot of respect and admiration for what they do.  They are as important, if not more so, than doctors.

Our principal announced that this story will be covered by the news.  However, I don’t want to be in the limelight and will make sure I am unavailable when they do come. 

Some say that there is a message in everything, but I have no idea of what it could be in this case.

In the latest Inter-Agency Network for Education in Emergencies Bi-Weekly Bulletin INEE (December 2009 Volume 1) there is reference to an excellent UNICEF resource for trainers/teachers who are involved in education programs in emergencies.

Here is the introduction to the resource:

In order to strengthen its efforts to promote psychosocial support within educational programming in emergencies, UNICEF has developed teacher-training materials to promote greater understanding of the impact of and effective responses to the psychosocial impact of emergencies on learners. The aim of this training is to improve the psychosocial well being of children in emergency environments. However, vulnerability is something many children experience in their developmental stages of growth and learning, so the skills learned during this training can be utilized by all teachers in the everyday classroom context. Over the course of the training, teachers will be exposed to innovative thinking and discussion whereby they will be able to implement identified goals and plans in order to provide a psychologically and emotionally safer environment for all children in their
school.

This manual is grounded in the Inter-Agency Standing Committee Taskforce (IASC) Guidelines on Mental Health and Psychosocial Support in Emergency Settings (MHPSS), which outline appropriate minimum responses and standards for psychosocial support and mental health in emergencies. In addition, this manual promotes the standards set forth in the INEE Minimum Standards.

Pirozzi

Initial pilot sessions of the training have shown that maximum results are achieved when the approach to psychosocial support by teachers is mainstreamed into the school curriculum and extra-curricular activities. There may be significant relevance to school counsellors as well, though the materials may require some adaptation for their training. Providing exposure to the content for administrators and other school personnel helps to ensure acceptance and sustainability of the programme, as well as a consistency of approach throughout the school system. The materials are oriented towards experienced teachers who already possess strong teaching skills. Shortened or modified versions of the training should be developed to meet the differing needs and capabilities of education personnel other than skilled teachers.

For access to the manual please click here.

The resource is a comprehensive 5 day facilitation guide, and would be useful for all teacher trainers, not just those working in emergency contexts, as it is important to consider children’s psychosocial well being  no matter where they live.

*Jakarta Globe, 5 December 2008

We hear the sirens first and then see the flash of green as they zip past. The paramedics of Ambulance 118 are the heroes of the streets, working around the clock to save lives and lend a tender hand.

7:30 a.m.
Even in the early hours of the morning, the parking lot of Cipto Manungkusumo Hospital, or RSCM, in Central Jakarta is filling up fast.
Five ambulances are parked in front of the children’s wing. “Ambulans Darurat,” or Emergency Ambulance, has been stenciled boldly in red on the front of the forest-green vehicles.
A man with plump cheeks and a short, squared-off beard is inside one of them, checking an oxygen tank.
“We have to go to Manggarai [South Jakarta] to fill up our oxygen tanks,” Dany Widyanto says.
At 26, he’s been a paramedic for four years. An older man with a perpetual smile, dressed in the regulation blue Ambulans 118 uniform and scruffy sneakers, introduces himself as Habibi Dukhri.
“We always travel in teams of two. Dany and I take turns driving,” Habibi says.
Today the two have been paired up for their 12-hour shift, covering Central Jakarta.

8:00 a.m.
At the oxygen-filling station, Dany and Habibi run into Marlinawati Susana and Mutmainah. Known around RSCM as Marlina and Imut, the two women are also attending to their tanks before their shift begins.
“We have to check our equipment every morning because patients are more likely to die from lack of oxygen than delays in [getting to the hospital] caused by traffic jams,” Marlina says, referring to the maddening traffic conditions in the Indonesian capital.
Slender and long-limbed, she has pulled her hair back into a ponytail, accentuating her pale, heavily powdered skin.
Her partner, Imut, wears a jilbab, or headscarf, and no makeup. She lets Marlina do most of the talking.
They have both been with the ambulance unit for more than two years.
“Almost half of our crew are women. There is no difference between us [men and women],” Habibi says.
Marlina says, “People work here because they like a challenge.”
The four of them say their goodbyes and hop back into their ambulances.

8:20 a.m.
Habibi and Dany leave the oxygen station for the Hotel Indonesia traffic circle in Central Jakarta, where they are expected to “stand by” from 8 a.m. to 10 a.m.
They are not worried about being late; it is likely they will just be sitting there, waiting.
“In the beginning, I liked the idea of going all around the city,” Habibi says. “And after doing it for a while, I began to really enjoy it. In the hospital, there is a senior-junior system. Here, [as paramedics] we are all equals.”
In the five years that Habibi has been a paramedic, not a single patient has died in his ambulance. “Victims sometimes die when we arrive late on the scene, but never in the ambulance because we always stabilize them before moving them,” Habibi says.
Even in heavy traffic jams?
“The response time for road accidents is often longer due to traffic. Sometimes when we get there, the victim has already been taken away in a bajaj [auto-rickshaw] or taxi,” Habibi says. “We often lose victims that way.”
Ambulance 118 is a national government ambulance service. The service is free for people with welfare cards, as well as road accident victims. For house calls and hospital-to-hospital transfers, there is a flat-rate charge of Rp 200,000 ($17), regardless of mileage. The cost includes all necessary services and supplies.
“People don’t know much about us,” Habibi says. “Sometimes, when there is a road accident, say someone on a bike, they often refuse our help because they think they have to pay.”
Dany is broody and seemingly fed up. But he concedes, with a roguish gleam in his eyes, that he is in his element when on the graveyard shift: from 7:30 p.m. to 7:30 a.m.
“The most exciting are the nightclub victims,” he says. “You never know what is going to happen! Someone might be drunk and try to pick a fight with us.
“That is a cause of distress for paramedics because our safety is important. If it is not safe for us, it is better we refrain from treating the victims until backup from police or another unit arrives. Don’t try to be a hero.”

8:40 a.m.
At the traffic circle in Central Jakarta, Habibi relaxes in the back of a police pick-up truck fitted with benches and a canvas roof. He has found a friend: a policeman directing the rush-hour traffic.
“We like to call ourselves street children,” Habibi says with a laugh.

9:58 a.m.
Habibi takes a call and the men get into the ambulance.
“We’re off to the north now. They are out of ambulances in Kelapa Gading because most are them are being used to take welfare card holders to the hospital,” he says. RSCM has only five operational ambulances.
“Before, when we had 15 ambulances, our response time was excellent. At times, three ambulances would converge in one place,” he says. “We aim for good response time.”
Dany sounds the siren and the ambulance sails through a red light. Drivers honk their horns in protest. They still do not know the nature of the emergency.
“We often get crank calls, so our operator will take a call, write down the information, and call the person back at their number,” Habibi explains.
The ambulance veers into the busway lane, which is lawful in an emergency. “Ambulances have priority on the road but people still don’t realize it,” Habibi says.
He rings the operator for the exact location, then reports to Habibi: “We’re standing down. There is another ambulance closer.” They turn back to Menteng, Central Jakarta.

10:45 a.m.
Habibi pulls into a small police post at Suropati Park, Menteng, to use the bathroom. Dany perches himself on a steel bench. His partner returns with milky coffee. “I smoke sometimes. In the field, we can survive all day on just coffee and cigarettes,” Dany says.
“They call us ambulans gaul [cool ambulance drivers] because we are all so young,” he laughs.

11:00 a.m.
Habibi’s phone rings. “Here we go,” he says. “Standby for a protest? MPR/DPR? Inside or outside the building?” he asks the operator, referring to the People’s Consultative Assembly and the House of Representatives buildings.
“Two units have been called to be on standby for this protest,” he tells Dany. They get in the ambulance and Habibi starts reading his newspaper.

11:20 a.m.
Dany parks in the street outside the legislative complex and walks over to meet Suyitno and Eka, from the Ambulance 118 unit in from Tanjung Duren, West Jakarta.
“The protest has not even started,” Suyitno reports.

11:30 a.m.
A man in uniform approaches the ambulance. A young woman wearing a pink T-shirt is slumped in his arms, her long hair covering her face.
A crowd forms. Within seconds the woman is being given oxygen through a nasal cannula.
“Wake up, Mega,” Dany says, once he has discovered the victim’s name.
Habibi pops around the door with an oxygen mask. “Dany, use this instead.”
Habibi and his colleagues chat with the victim’s father, seemingly unperturbed by the situation. Her husband appears with a plastic cup of tea.
The woman stirs, managing to raise her head just enough to sip the sweet tea.
“How is she?” Suyitno inquires. “Stable,” comes the reply from inside the ambulance.
The woman had followed her father to Jakarta from Ngawi, East Java Province, to support him in his protest to increase the tenure of village administrative leaders.
Although Habibi advises the patient to rest, the husband calls a taxi and they leave.

12:05 p.m.
A man approaches Eka and asks her to check his blood pressure, which she does. It is not long before a Civilian Protection Service officer enters the ambulance. “What is your complaint, sir?” He too is worried about low-blood pressure. Then comes an elderly gentleman with a black cap.
“I have a headache,” he says to Eka, as she dutifully pumps the blood pressure meter.
Habibi makes small talk with the men about the protest.
“If one comes in, the rest follow. They are often looking for headache meds,” explains Habibi, as Suyitno informs the growing crowd of the same thing.
“We don’t supply oral meds,” he tells the people lining up. “We only carry them for emergencies and evacuations.”
Three more men ask Habibi to check their blood pressure. “They will all line up because they think we are offering freebies,” Suyitno says.
“My chest hurts,” one man says.

12:50 p.m.
Eka wants to pray at her post in Tanjung Duren, West Jakarta. Everyone heads there for lunch.

1:00 p.m.
Habibi heads to the upper level of the Tanjung Duren Fire Station with Dany. They meet up with Purwiyanto, the area coordinator for West Jakarta. “We don’t have a post of our own, so we are sharing with the fire department,” Purwiyanto says, as the two paramedics settle on the floor.
Habibi rings headquarters to report on his whereabouts. On TV, actor Gading Marten is trying to find lines on a show called “Missing Lyrics.” Looking on, the paramedics dig into their meals.

2:40 p.m.
“We are picking up a patient from Pelni hospital and bringing him home. We do not know the condition of the patient yet,” Habibi says as they leave the fire department.
Turning onto Jalan S. Parman, they are faced with a traffic jam. “This is Jakarta,” comments Habibi as Dany switches on the siren. Dany looks agitated. “I don’t like jams,” he says. Habibi falls asleep.

3:05 p.m.
“Don’t take a ticket,” Habibi tells Dany as they enter Pelni Hospital in Central Jakarta. Once stationed in front of the emergency doors, Habibi sets up the gurney. Dany rolls it in.
“Straight ahead,” instructs the hospital staff member. The patient’s family greets them. A relative helps Habibi and Dany with the best way to get back home. “Go past Pondok Kopi because it is not too far. The patient has sores on his back,” she says.
In a darkened room with three beds and green pleated curtains, the patient lies on his back: A frail elderly man, covered only with a blanket, he has had a stroke and been at the hospital a week. A nurse dresses him carefully.
Dany and Habibi have their latex gloves on. “Sir, we are going to lift you up slowly, OK?” Habibi says.
They wrap the patient in blankets and lift him onto the gurney. “Does it hurt?” Dany asks. The patient moans, almost inaudibly.

3:20 p.m.
Everyone piles into the ambulance. The patient’s daughter-in-law sits up front. Habibi is with the patient in back. The patient asks Habibi to pull off his Band-Aid saying it pains him. “It hurts from the injection, Pak. This is to prevent bleeding,” Habibi explains.
He starts making small talk. “How old are you, Pak?” he asks. “72.” He gently holds the old man’s hand and takes his blood pressure. “Slowly, Dany,” he says as the road gets bumpy. The patient’s feet peek out of the blue hospital blankets, crusted with sores and cracked skin.
“Sometimes we travel out of town, like to Solo in Central Java when patients want to spend their last days at home,” Habibi says. “Then we would have a mechanic with us, in case the vehicle breaks down.”
The patient asks Habibi to scratch an itch on his left arm. Up front, Dany is trying to find the exit. “There have been coma patients who go home to die. We have to be there when the families pull the plug,” Habibi says.

4:10 p.m.
The ambulance arrives at the patient’s home in Pulo Gebang, East Jakarta. Three dogs roam around the patio; paw prints pepper the floor. Dany and Habibi roll the gurney into the house. With the help of the patient’s relatives, they lift him onto the bed. “Pak, get better soon,” Habibi says before walking back to the car.
He fills out a form with the patient’s details for the relatives to sign.

4:20 p.m.
Habibi fills out the daily log book and helps Dany with directions back to Central Jakarta. “A GPS system was set up for Jakarta but due to a lack of funds, it was never turned on,” Dany says. “We know our way around Central Jakarta but sometimes we get calls to unfamiliar places and have to ask for directions.”

5:25 p.m.
Back at RSCM, the parking lot is full. Dany manages to find a spot and turns off the engine. Habibi goes to find snacks. “Before we had a post at this hospital, but no more. So we chill in the ambulance,” Dany says.
When Habibi returns with fried snacks, they talk about the rise of new ambulances in Jakarta hospitals.
“What irks me is that some people still think of us as mere drivers. It is to be expected, I guess, with all the fancy new ambulances nowadays being driven by drivers who are not trained paramedics like us,” Habibi says.
“Yet, people only trust us when it comes to big emergencies,” Dany adds. “Because if you compare us with fresh medical grads, they lose out to our experience in the field.”

6:00 pm
Habibi has gone for evening prayers. Two women approach the car.
“Pak, can you take a patient to an old folks’ home on Radio Dalam?” they ask Dany. He asks about the patient’s condition. He is still in the intensive care unit.
Dany calls headquarters to find out if the night-shift paramedics are available.
“Can you not take him yourself?” the woman asks.
“I am sorry, it’s procedure to have two paramedics in the ambulance,” Dany says. “And we recommend moving the patient late at night, when there is less traffic. Tonight, all the patients that have to be transported from RSCM are ‘bad’ ones,” Dany says.
“A ‘bad’ patient does not have all his ABCs [airways, breathing, circulation] in working order. Usually it’s the airway that’s most problematic. Our patient today was a ‘good’ one because he was stable.
“Sometimes hospitals are funny. They call us to take patients away when they are critical or ‘bad’ because they consider it bad luck if they die in the hospital.
It begins to rain. Habibi returns and Asep, the Central Jakarta area coordinator, jumps into the ambulance. “Not going home?” Dany asks him. Asep snorts, “Ha! I am sleeping in the ambulance tonight!”

7:20 p.m.
The rain stops. Habibi and Dany spill out of the ambulance into the wet parking lot and head home.

I stumbled on this Fox News story today. There aren’t enough details to know anything about the incident, but from my own experience this wreck is a challenging dive, not just because of the size and depth of the wreck, but the two hour boat ride each way can not only be tiring, but puts help a long way away.

It rained pretty hard yesterday. It was that nice, wind-whipped rain that makes the banners in the street go all jumpy and the fat, nasty kind of rain that makes you grateful that you have some warm, well-lit place with relatively few drafts to duck into at the end of the day. One with a cup of French-pressed coffee and a space heater– which isn’t quite a fireplace, but will do at the end of the day if you’ve got a couple of candles.

It was a normal evening, though. We all had settled into our respective areas of roost for the evening; Tom had gone to bed, John plowing away at the textbooks in his room, and I was one the phone with Melissa.

Until around 10:30-11ish, when Tom shouts from his room, “There’s a fire in my room. Seriously guys! I have no idea what to do about it.”

I look in, and there is Tom…and a small fire surrounding his space heater. Apparently, the thing had so overheated as to melt through the base and set the floor on fire.

“Hang on, Melissa. I have to go put out a literal fire.”

After dousing the thing with a bucket of water, opening the windows for the night (melting plastic has a rotten smell), we three stood around the now-dead appliance and considered our options. Tell Madam Faten now? Later? What the hell are we going to do with this floor (which is, by the way, now covered in little spatterings of melted plastic)?

Exciting night.

Watch those space heaters, people.