Because Nothing Says Excitement Like Fire

So I couldn't sleep this morning, despite my best efforts. I got up and wandered into the living room and thought, hmmm, smells like smoke. I wandered into the kitchen, checked the pilot light, whatever; nothing. Smelled it again. Looked out into the courtyard and realized that there were flames in an apartment on the 5th floor. I watched for a second to make sure it wasn't candles or something, and then I called the fire department, put some clothes on, grabbed my phone and wallet, and got ready to leave. By then I could see someone fiddling with the flames or charred remains or whatever, and tried to call off the FD, but I could hear the sirens, so I went downstairs to greet them, as instructed.

Three trucks, possibly more, showed up, along with some cops and a battalion-chief type vehicle. I ended up bringing them into the courtyard to show them the window, and, oh, two dozen firefighters trudged up the stairs.

Turns out that some guy had a trash fire--and another woman had seen it, too, and had gone down to pound on his door and wake him up (!) and he put it out. The firefighters ended up checking all the stairwells and elevators and such, which impressed me with their thoroughness, even though it appeared to be pretty clear what had happened. And I caught someone say something about a "high-rise fire," which explains the four trucks, i.e., there are nine floors to my building, so something more drastic might well have needed that kind of response.

I felt a little silly, on one hand, for having called it in, but, in retrospect, it was the right thing to do. (Suppose he hadn't been home? Or the woman hadn't been able to wake him? Or the windows hadn't been open so I could smell the smoke?)

Though, admittedly, a bit more adrenaline than I really wanted at 5:15 in the morning.