Many of you will remember my POST about my daughter’s experience in downtown Chicago. You know, the one describing the man who jumped from a 20-story building and landed on top of a car right across the street from her?
That was just two weeks ago.
Amy had moved into a high-rise apartment with a gorgeous lakefront view last summer, and has really enjoyed big-city life after being raised in small Victoria, TX. She and husband Tom have adapted well — even the winter hasn’t been bad this year.
Well, yesterday (Sunday) Amy went to a movie that Tom didn’t particularly care to watch. Since the theater is only about a mile from her building, she walked. He stayed home. After the show, about 6:15 p.m., she walked home.
No, she didn’t get mugged. She walked south on Michigan avenue, crossed the Chicago River, turned left on Wacker Drive and looked ahead to see her building surrounded by emergency vehicles!
As she neared the entrance she heard someone say there was a fire!
Amy’s husband is very tall (six feet, 10 inches — and for you Michelle, that is exactly 208.28 centimeters. So there!). One advantage to that height is that his head is nearly always above the crowd. Amy knows to look up, and soon spotted him holding a jacket wadded up in his arms and grinning at her.
She thought that maybe the jacket was for her, but soon learned that wrapped up inside that jacket was their pet tortoise. She was pleased that Tom’s first thought had been to get their “child” out of the building.
As you might expect, they did NOT lose all their worldly possessions. In fact, they didn’t lose anything except about an hour of time while they waited to be allowed back inside.
They rode up in the elevator with a fireman, who told them the fire had occurred in a trash dumpster on the lowest level. The building has trash chutes from all floors down to dumpsters, and evidently someone dropped something smoldering or burning down one of these chutes.
Probably some country bumpkin relative of, or visitor to, a resident, right? Surely no one who had lived very long in Chicago would do anything like that.
At least not after hearing the story about Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.
(I’m trusting that all my U.S. readers will understand that reference. Michelle, if you don’t “get it,” let me know.)