Burn baby burn (help, my ass is on fire)

Many years ago, I was invited at a cocktail event. Trying my best to look like Rico Suave, I donned my nicest dress shirt, slapped on my wrinkle-free pants, spit-shined my shoes (no not actual spit- though there was a time when this is what I thought it meant), and moseyed on over (term I learned from watching Three's Company like a million times).

As most drinkers do, I walked in and immediately made a beeline to the bar. Amaretto Sour is my go-to, and then I began perusing the room in search for some recognizable faces. I found a few and joined the conversation. It was one of those nights you know, when you feel absolutely lit and highly talkative. And I began telling a story. And then another, with my entourage laughing heartily like a cackle of hyenas.

At one point, one of the dudes looks at me and says "bro you're on fire". My response was to smile and say "oh yeah, yeah, yeah I feel goood". But seconds later he started yelling "No you're on FIRE....literally ...look behind you!"

And just like that, once I realized my back was covered in flames, and I went absolutely bonkers. My shirt had caught an open tea light candle. And voila! I was getting barbecued live, and not like a gradual, slow-cook pig roast, but more lime a bonfire!

And so I did what any sensible person would do: I begun running frantically around the room like Wil E. Coyote, yelling like a damn freak, and without a clue of what to do.

"Take your shirt off!!" was what I heard a few yell out. My shirt? Off? Do you know how hard this is to do, to unbutton a dress shirt, in these circumstances? Like WTF. Were they envisioning a striptease at their local brothel? Or did they expect me to head over to the nearest pillar in the room and spin myself round and round? Jesus!

Albeit I did give it a go (rip my shirt off, not the go-go dancing), but my hands quivered, and nor could I focus and unbutton a damn button. And ripping it open was an even hard task, for as much I tried to turn green (I was actually turning orange), there was no Bruce Banner to be had on this day. I barely had the strength of SpongeBob SquarePants.

And then all of a sudden, as I began losing all hope, and started picturing myself as a barbecued marshmallow, a couple of dudes jumped me, tossed me to the ground like a sack of Idaho potatoes (PEI russet potatoes, here in Canada) and told me to roll on the carpet, while vigorously patting me down.

Fire extinguished.

But pain. Oh the pain. Pain like I had never felt before. When screaming is the only (albeit futile) option, I yelled like a deranged lunatic.

Couple of friends then knelt down and held my hand, reassuring me everything would be alright, that the ambulance was on its way. I looked up and saw half the room standing around me, chattering, some taking pictures like paparazzi. For a moment, I wasn't sure if I was still alive or in a (bad ass) dream.

Endless murmurs, what on earth could they be discussing, I thought?

"Boy I had no idea he had such a hairy back (whatever hair was left)" or "Why would this clown set himself on fire"? Or maybe some mused "this must be some paid entertainer they brought in, and his little magic fire trick must have backfired on him (pun intended)"

And that's when stupidity hit a whole other level.

"Do you want me to pack up your shirt, it's over there in the corner" asked one individual whose name I don't recall. Of all the things that mattered at that moment in time.. "Oh please do" I felt like answering, with a fake British accent "and can you fold it nicely like a good nanny. Hun, may I also ask you to pack up the tea light that burnt me while you're at it? I'd like to keep a souvenir of this memorable event. In fact any other interesting objects you can find in the room bring those along to the ER as well. Matches, lighters, smoke alarms, cooking equipment..."

The paramedics soon arrived on the scene. The ambulance lady (not sure what else to call her) knelt down, and began speaking with me, asking my name then followed up with a "how do you feel? are you feeling like you might pass out"? No lady, I feel like I just came out of a massage parlor (the clean type), and I'm thinking of heading to the dance floor in a few minutes, perhaps show off some breakdancing moves...can you play me some Herbie Hancock in the ambulance?

And the pain kept creeping up, I felt myself fading, and so I asked her point blank "am I going to die?"

"Yes of course" she answered.

I began shaking like a buzzing cell phone on a hard table.

And she paused, for effect ".....We're all going to die someday sir".

Comedy hour at its finest. Well played I thought. Dark, morbid humor just when you need it most!

Fortunately, once the morphine took effect, the pain became manageable. I spent the evening in the hospital, but fortunately, the end result was that I only had a first-degree burn. Since I was out of town, I was directed to a nearby hotel.

The next morning, I called a cab, and made my way down to the lobby. As I walked out and entered the taxi. I kid you not this is exactly what happened:

"Hi Sir where are you going?" "Airport" "Ok sir, and how was your evening?" "Painful" "Oh sorry to hear sir, hope you feel better soon sir".

And, as he turned around to look at me, my heart skipped a beat. Or two. The driver had a half-burnt face. Surely, I thought, someone was playing a trick on me (perhaps that ambulance lady).

"Thank you, Mr. Dent (aka DC's Two-Face)", I mumbled to myself, as I tried desperately to open the car door. Get me the F out of here, I think I prefer to walk to the airport!