About a decade ago, I was renting a duplex in Lexington. One night, I decided to make some eggrolls, so I put a pot of oil on the stove. I had made the eggrolls from scratch the night before so all I had to do was get them out of the fridge, assemble my utensils, and wait for the oil to get to temp. Being the ADD type, I thought that while I was waiting, I would go down the hall to my office and check in on the computer game I was playing. (In full looserdom disclosure, it was everquest).
Some amount of time passed, and to this day, I couldn't tell you how long. It really didn't seem like that long, but when I got to the kitchen, there was a nice little bonfire going on the stovetop and the kitchen was quickly filling with smoke. It sounds cliche or like something you'd see on a cartoon, but honestly my first reaction was to think "why aren't my smoke detectors going off?" About five seconds later, they must have realized that I caught them napping and the house was filled with beeping to go along with the smoke.
My first instinct was to get my fire extinguisher, but that was the exact moment that I remembered that I forgot to move it with me out of my last place. Next up was to put the lid on it, but the lid was on the other side of the fire. By this time, the cabinets were starting to burn, and the paper towel holder had a flaming roll of Bounty going on. The fire was happening directly below the cabinet that housed all of my booze, so I was a bit worried that the 151 could cause problems so I did what anyone would do. The front door was right next to the kitchen doorway -- it opened directly into the living room, and the kitchen entryway was right there too. So, I opened up the door, ran into the kitchen, grabbed the flaming pot, ran back to the front door...
And then ran right into the storm door that I had forgotten to open. Flaming oil spilled all over me, the carpet, the wall, the curtain, and the couch. I kicked the door open and placed the fire that I had left in my pot in the front yard and then went in for more. I grabbed the flaming roll of paper towels and tossed that out there with the pot -- remembering to open the storm door this time. Then I grabbed a blanket and put out the curtains, couch, carpet, and the miscellaneous things still burning on the countertop. I think the blanket caught on fire too, so I threw it out there on the pile.
The fire was contained, but I thought it was a good idea to call the fire department, mainly because I shared a wall with someone else and I was afraid that if anything was still smoldering in the walls or anything, I might wind up killing someone. When 911 answered, I told them that I had a small kitchen fire, it was totally contained, but if they could just -- no hurry! -- send out a guy to take a look-see and make sure, I'd appreciate it.
About three or five minutes later, they showed up with freaking everything. I don't know if it was a slow night or if it's just protocol or what, but they had the guy in the Crown Vic, the "salvage van", two super-sized ladder trucks, and an ambulance. The EMTs took me into the amberlamps to check me out and I watched this swarm of firefighters run into my home with axes, fans, and all the toys. Yikes. Next thing I know, they were carrying out my kitchen one cabinet at a time.
When it was all done, they had pulled out four or five cabinets and put a boss hole in the wall. I had enough burn damage to my hand that it took me about five or six years to regain all the feeling in my right hand. I didn't really catch on to the seriousness of the situation until the ER told me to follow up with a plastic surgeon. I kept the burnt couch for a while and finally gave it to my brother, but his dog ate it, so it's gone now.
I was vindicated about two years ago though: I had a plate of bacon that I took out of the microwave and put on the stove. Turns out I had also turned on the wrong burner which was where the plate was. It popped and the bacon grease soaked paper towels caught fire. Since I had practiced it before, I was able to ensure that the door was open, double checked for the presence of a storm door, and not finding one, successfully carried the flaming bacon plate out to the back yard. So there's that.
But, seriously, be careful. That burn was the most excruciating pain I've ever been in my whole life. Other than narcotic pain pills, there was absolutely no dulling it.