The toaster story

I'm not a particularly loud person, and also I'm fairly chill. Nothing that I can think of demonstrates this more than the time the toaster caught on fire...

At the time, I was living with my first ex-boyfriend's aunt. I used to work with her doing after school and weekend programmes. She also did foster care so her 'kids' were usually around. Even after they outgrew the system, they'd still come by to visit 'mom'. That was the case this particular day when I went downstairs to make some toast.

We had a well loved toaster and as it usually goes in big families, it wasn't emptied out very often. I didn't know that at the time, so I innocently went about making my toast. There must have been a lot of crud at the bottom, cuz this thing was blazing like crazy.

So, I unplugged it and went to put it outside but couldn't open the door since I was holding a flaming toaster. One of the outgrown foster kids was sitting in the living room (we'll call him Dave) and so I called out to him for help.

Me: 'Hey Dave, could you come and help me?'
Dave: (sitting on couch with laptop) 'Why? I'm busy.'
Me: 'Because the toaster is on fire and I can't open the door.'
Dave: 'Yeah, whatever.'
Me: 'Seriously, I can't open the door because I'm holding a burning toaster.'
Dave: 'Yeah, right.'
Me: (walks over with toaster) 'Could you please open the door? The toaster IS on fire.'

He finally looked up and realized that the toaster was in fact on fire, and gave me the 'well, why didn't you say so?' look afterwards.

I really didn't see the point in yelling or anything like that. I very clearly said what the matter was, and if you didn't want to listen, I don't think anything I said or did would have made a difference.