How Drinking Saved My Life

By Hans N. Lechner

2000

            Some people think I have a drinking problem.  They say I drink too much, too fast, and too often.  Well, that may be so, but my drinking has never inhibited me from accomplishing some of the most death defying acts of courage in a life-threatening situation.

            Just the other day, as I was emerging from a bar after an all night drinking binge, I detected the presence of smoke in the air and what smelled like burning children.  I followed the scent for about two and a half miles until I reached the source of the smoke.  There I stood before the local orphanage; the whole building was ablaze.  Smoke poured from the windows as flames climbed up the walls and danced across the roof.  A crowd stood and watched as the antique, two-story Victorian slowly started to crumble.  "Where in the world are the fire fighters," I said to myself.  "I don’t even hear sirens."  It was at that moment that I received my calling.

            Through the snap, crackle, and pop of burning wood, the wailing howls of tormented dogs, and the horns of the spectator traffic I thought I heard a faint cry for help.  I tuned out all other sounds and focused my acoustic devices on the burning building.  I heard it again, this time much more distinctly.  It was definitely a cry for help from a terrified youngster. 

I estimated the call to be coming from the back of the house on the second floor.  I guessed the child’s age at about eight, and from the muffled sound of her voice I assumed that she was desperately clinging on to a teddy bear or some other stuffed animal.  I looked to the crowd once more but no one else seemed to hear the cry.  I felt a sensation in my gut and I knew what I had to do.

            Without a second thought I staggered into the conflagration and began my desperate search for the kitchen. The flames were reaching out for me; I could feel the heat tickling my ribs.  My eyes began to water and I was virtually blinded by the smoke.  Every breath I took brought intense pain to my body.  My lungs refused to accept the polluted air that I continued to inhale.  My head began to spin after that I experienced moments of temporary blackout. 

            I came to about two hours later on the front lawn of the house, which was now nothing more than a smoldering pile of rubble.  The paramedics’ had resuscitated me with smelling salts and cold water.  There were no visible burns or scoring on my body, save a blister on my upper lip and tongue.  Also, I somehow managed to scrape my left elbow. 

            According to eyewitnesses, I successfully entered and exited the inferno six times before collapsing in the yard.  During the first two trips into the structure fire, I was able to rescue the necessary ingredients for a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.  Having vomited during the evening, my craving for food had grown intense.  Fortunately, the steel of the antiquated refrigerator was able to withstand the intense heat of the fire, thus preserving the bread, ham, tomatoes, cheese and lettuce.  Unfortunately, both paper and plastic bags had been destroyed, which required me to make several trips.  I had to go back into the blaze a third time in order to retrieve a knife for slicing tomatoes.  On my forth trip into the house I used the steel counter top as griddle to toast the bread and melt the cheese.  During the fifth trip into the house I was frantically searching for something cool to drink.  As expected, the sandwich was incredibly hot; on the first bite the melted cheese stuck to my lip and tongue causing an extremely painful burn.  I was unable to find anything cold to drink; however, I did find a case of warm Malta, which I carried out and generously shared with some of the crowd.  My final trip into the house was to retrieve my car keys from the kitchen.  I spent several minutes searching for them before I remembered, much to my chagrin, that I don’t own a car.

Witnesses go on to say that after my sandwich and Malta I stood back with the rest of the crowd and watched as the firemen rescued four children, two gold fish, and a kitten named Winston.  Fortunately, no one was seriously injured in the fire.  Several spectators confirm that I engaged two other gentlemen in an argument on the proper technique handling a pressurized fire hose.  I insisted that one of the firemen allow me to demonstrate.  When he refused I told him "move ya bumba clot an goway."  The fireman then pushed me.  I stumbled over my feet, and fell backward (explaining the scuffed elbow).  I assumed a recumbent position on the ground and peacefully passed out until the paramedics attended to me.

            Now the question still remains, how was I able to enter a blazing inferno, with temperatures well over 900° F, seven different times and escape totally unscathed?  Some people say it’s a miracle.  Others say I just got lucky.  However, I am a man of science and I have a different theory.  After a night of heavy drinking, in which I consumed enough booze to kill a goat, my blood alcohol was at a record setting level.  Certainly alcohol was emanating from my pores and every other orifice of my body.  Like a rag soaked in gasoline, which can burn for a long time before the rag begins to char, the alcohol I was perspiring was all that was burning.  Many witnesses will testify that each time I emerged from the fire there was what appeared to be an aura about me that was glowing like a soft flame from a propane burner. 

            The alcohol in my blood saved my life and gave me the superhuman ability to prepare a tasty snack in one of the most inhospitable environments man has ever known.  How can you find a problem with that?