Last year, my friend Jordan house sat for us while we went on the storied USGP roadtrip. When we came back, he confessed that every day he came over, he was always half-expecting to find the cat randomly ablaze and torching the rest of the house.

So, with that in mind and knowing that I'm one of those insane people who always thinks the stove's on, imagine my reaction when I got home today to find a fire truck parked in front of my house. A fire truck with its lights blazing. Parked. In front of my house.

Like any rational adult, I freaked the fuck out. However in the two seconds of freaking the fuck out, my brain realized there weren't any strapping firemen draping themselves across my sidewalk or throwing themselves into my burning house to save Kitty the Feline Pyromaniac (I was also tipped off by a lack of billowing black smoke, but really? I was looking for the beefcakes). Obviously, they weren't there for me. Or Kitty.

The next moment, the new next door neighbor came out to report his middle son had suffered a severe allergy attack and had stopped breathing briefly. They called 911. Instead of sending an ambulance, the dispatcher sent a fire truck chock-a-block with EMT-trained firemen.

Lucky kid.