Hot Water

“The bins on fire,” my boss told me.


“Outside. The Bin. It’s on fire.”

I looked. It was: smoke was wafting out the top. A lot of smoke. Some idiot had put a lit cigarette into the bin.

I raced to the kitchen, flipped on the tap and threw a bucket under it. I didn’t wait for the bucket to fill because I didn’t think I’d need all that much water. Within a minute I was outside dumping the water into the bin.

The smoke almost stopped, but then went on as strong as before.

“You’re doing something wrong,” said a helpful passerby.

“My mistake,” I told him. “It was hot water so only made it worse.”

I left him trying to sort that one out and raced back inside to re-half-fill the bucket.

This time, when I splashed the water into the bin, the smoke stopped. Mission accomplished. Disaster averted.

“That was so exciting,” I told the girls at work, “I’m considering a career change.”

When I told my story to Tracey I embellished a bit. “Do you think they’ll make me Mr May or Mr December?” I asked, referring to the firefighters’ yearly calender of hunks and spunks.

“Mr February,” Tracey told me. Then, before I could get a big head, she added, “It’s the tiniest month.”


When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’  Facebook Page.

 ’raising a family on little more than laughs’

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