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jazmynsmom

Awful Phone Call (long)

jazmynsmom
17 years ago

Last night my sister called to let me know that my dads paint store was on fire. My dad, alerted by a random phone call from a passerby who called him instead of 911, arrived with the fire department. They took his keys, and not understanding the lock was a little "quirky," managed to break the key off in the lock, so they axed through his glass storefront instead.

The fire dept. determined that the wiring shorted out and started a rug and nearby garbage can on fire. Had the fire not been put out so quickly, they would likely still be fighting it. The building contains over 20,000 gallons of highly flammable materials. The fire spread to the front desk and to some nearby inventory. Amazingly, of all his inventory, only one aerosol can of orange paint was ignited. It exploded and was propelled right through the ceiling. It was stored right beneath a shelf full of thinners, MEK (Methyl Ethyl Ketone), varnishes and more. All the labels on those insanely combustible products melted or were burned off.

As it is, the store and much of its inventory (paints, hundreds of rolls of wallcoverings, displays, etcÂ) are unsalvageable. But it could have been so much worse the whole back of the store is a warehouse with wooden floors shelves stacked high with combustibles and plenty of oxygen feeding a potential blaze from beneathÂ

This simple hometown store has been in the family for over 50 years. My sister and I spent many a Saturday at it while my dad took care of business. What I remember most about it was its pop machine: it was one of those top-opening chest jobbies that housed an inventory of small glass bottles, suspended by their necks. I used to have to scootch my selection down a thin row of bottles and pull it through the turnstile. My parents were loathe to give me the 15¢ or 25¢ to buy a bottle because in spite of my assurances that it "wouldnÂt happen this time  I promise!" ÂI couldnÂt drink out of these bottles to save my life. Somehow my tongue always got vacuumed into the opening and stuck. I always ended up in pain and in tears, gesticulating desperately for help.

When I visited the store a few years ago, I was taken aback at how big it wasnÂt. The exaggerated grandeur of a childÂs memory combined with a bit of neglect really took their toll. But since the inevitably early death of my Drunk Uncle, my dad (who is now sole proprietor) and his staff (many of whom have been with us for 30+ years) had really turned the place around. One thing that hadnÂt changed was that comforting smell of latex paint and chemicals that immediately reminds me of my dad.

So my dad and my brother (who now works for him) and all their men get to go to begin gutting and rebuilding on Monday. The insurance agent has given them promising feedback and theyÂre pretty sure theyÂll be able to rebuild itÂ

Part of me is relieved at how well this has turned out considering how awful it could have been but most of me has been dwelling on a lifetime of memories tied up in this place, and the toll I know its loss is taking on my family. Surprises like these always take a while to get used toÂ

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