Thanksgiving roast

I spent Thanksgiving at my place with my housemate and her family. After a big dinner, the guests departed, with her dad trying to be helpful by setting the self-clean feature on the oven. For anyone who doesn't know/have one, the self-clean feature basically means the oven heats up to 700 degrees Fahrenheit and incinerates any food, grime, etc. This entry will show why I don't recommend it.

I was chatting on the phone in the living room and saw some smoke coming out of the kitchen. No sooner did I ask my housemate what was going on, the house was rapidly filling with smoke. We rushed to open the front & back doors, but it was too late. The smoke covered all but two feet up from the floor throughout the entire main level. Of course, the upstairs was smoked out, too.

My housemate and I took turns covering our faces with my sweatshirt, diving into the smoke, and opening windows & trying to turn off the oven. It was impossible for me to see anything, but that didn't matter because it hurt too much to open my eyes. I would emerge from the house with my eyes clenched shut, coughing like crazy, with my hands wildly waving in front of me to help find my way ... and to keep my from crashing my head into something. It's no wonder to me now why most people in fires die from smoke inhalation.

The neighbors saw the smoke pouring out of all the doors & windows, though to my amazement not all of them bothered to ask what was going on. Seems like they should at least care about the possibility of a fire spreading to their houses, doesn't it?? But thankfully we were fine, the cats were fine (though terrified--even the crazy one turned into a cuddlebug), and after about an hour, the smoke finally cleared. Four days later, though, everything in the house still smells like a campfire.

And that, my friends, is the story of our Thanksgiving roast.