Walking to work from the train this morning I see a beautiful firetruck. One of those deep crimson ones with gold lettering and chrome trim. I smile and keep walking as it drives by. Then I see another one, parked. I would compare it to seeing two rare birds in a row, but then again it was more like seeing a rare flock.
Anyway, firetruck. Parked. In front of my building. Wait, what?! There were half a dozen firefolk standing outside and a stream of water and charred flakes flowing out from the door into a messy wooden pile at their feet. Speechless, I make eye contact and point at the door. They tell me I can go in.
The river of sopping wet carpet decorated with singed chips flows down the first floor hallway and then up the stairs, around the bend, and low-and-behold, into the actors' studio. Surprise, surprise. Except, as much as I love to blame everything on them, they probably didn't actually cause it.
Their studio is directly below our space. Story goes that Adam, our founder, smelled smoke and then 20 seconds later, thought, "Wait a minute....I'm actually in a burning building." He and another resident called 911, and three minutes later the firefolk streamed in as a horde of 40 or so, found a warm wall, and broke it down, revealing flames inside.
The guess is that someone threw a cigarette butt between the buildings (the adjacent building's roof is decked up as a hang out pad, and it runs up against that wall) and it kindled over the night. But, then again, that theory doesn't exclude the actors entirely.
So our office is smokey, which is kind of fun because it's a good-smelling smoke. I've answered two firetruck chaser's calls already--restoration and smoke smell removal.
Babara, another tenant, came up and talked to us for a bit. She had a funny story about another fire that happened a bit ago. There were some pot growers who's irrigation system caught on fire. Yeah, I know, irrigation...on fire. Anyway, the sprinklers went off and the guy there split, boalting the door behind him, since he didn't want to be caught with the pot.
The tenants below just happen to notice the gallons of water dripping from the roof onto their electrical equipment, and the firefolk were called into action. The door was metal and boalted, so they went around, and one of the younger firefolk cames back with saucer eyes saying, "There was a lot of pot." The police were theoretically called, but men dressed in black came and wrapped the stuff up in burlap and threw it into a black van. Interesting.