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, not like a slow pig roast, think more bonfire!

I begun running around the room like Wil E. Coyote, frantic, scared, yelling, and without a clue of what to do.

"Take your shirt off!!" was what I heard a few yelling. My shirt? Off? Do you know how hard this is to do, to unbutton your dress shirt, in these circumstances? Like WTF. Was this a striptease he saw? Should I head to the nearby pillar in the room and spin myself around the pole to appease him?!

Unfortunately it didn't work, my hands quivered, and I couldn't focus and unbutton every damn button. And ripping it open was to hard a task, I was no Bruce Banner on this day.

All of a sudden, as I began losing all hope, 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 patting me down.

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

Couple of friends 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.

What on earth where they discussing, I thought. "Boy I had no idea he had such a hairy back" or "Poor guy why would he set himself on fire"? Or maybe "this must be some paid entertainer they brought in and his little magic fire trick must have backfired (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. I didn't give a rats arse about my half burnt shirt, why would he even ask me that? (queue in someone who will respond "he was just trying to be nice". Can you also pack up the tea light that burnt me while you're at it? Any other souvenirs you can find in the room bring those along to the ER as well.

At this point, the paramedics had 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"? Hell no lady, I feel splendid, I'm thinking of getting on the dance floor right now and breakdancing, can you play some Herbie Hancock? I mean seriously, I'm in excruciating pain... enough with the silly questions.

And so, as I felt myself fading, I asked her point blank "am I going to die?"

"Yes of course" she answered. I began shaking.

"Oh my God can you help..." " We're all going to die someday sir" was her response. Comedy hour at its finest. Well played. Dark, morbid humor just when you need it most!

Once the morphine took effect, the pain became manageable. I spent the evening in the hospital, but fortunately, 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, walked out and entered the taxi. "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" And, as he turned around to look at me, my heart skipped a beat. The driver had half his face burnt.

Surely, someone was playing a trick on me. Thank you, Mr. Dent (aka DC's Two-Face), I mumbled, as I tried desperately to open the car door. Get me the F out of here, I think I'll walk to the airport!