Flame On!

   When I was in high school, we had a house where the garage had been converted to a family room.  My parents, in their best move ever, put a pool table in there and I practically lived in there on the weekends, watching late-night TV and shooting pool.
   Often I fixed a bowl of popcorn to feast on late at night.  One wintry night, after our electric corn popper had gone kaput, but before we had a new one, I decided to use our big honkin' cast iron skillet to pop my corn.  I'd done it before, and I knew the drill - put the oil in, heat it up, add the popcorn, put the lid on, and shake it until everything popped.
   This night, though, we were out of oil.  I decided to use shortening.  It had to melt before it got hot enough to pop the corn, so I figured I could rack up the balls and make a shot or two on the pool table.  Being a typical kid, I got distracted, and a little while later I heard a muffled "whumph!" coming from the kitchen.  Ruh roh!!
   I ran into the kitchen and, sure enough, the shortening had melted, heated, and caught on fire.  I knew better than to pour water on a grease fire, and I had the presence of mind to remember that baking soda would do the trick.  The problem was that we kept the baking soda on a shelf above the stove, and the flame was pretty high (big skillet, lots of shortening - hey!  I was a growing lad!).  Fortunately, it had snowed recently and there were some drifts in the back yard that I figured I could drop the skillet in.
   I grabbed the burning skillet and I started walking quickly and quietly toward the sliding glass door to the patio.  As with most emergencies, time seemed to slow down.  I was moving quickly, but it seemed like such a long journey across the carpet, with flames going up out of the pan, but not up my arm.
   At about that time, my mom, who I thought slept like a log, decided to get up.  I didn't see her come out of my parents' bedroom, but when she screamed, I was so startled I leapt up into the air and ran toward the patio door.
   Let me point out that at the time I had a ratty old terrycloth bathrobe on, which I'd had holes and loose threads hanging down.  When I jumped and started running, the flames started moving toward my arms and my very flammable robe.
   My mom screamed again, "Lyndon!  You're on fire!!"
   I reached the door and flung the pan out.  It didn't reach the snow drifts, but instead hit the concrete patio and the fire went out anyway.  I was patting my arms, although my robe (thankfully) had not caught fire.
   "Mom!"  I said.  "I had it under control until you started screaming."
   By this time my dad was up and asked what was going on.
   "I was making popcorn and burned the pan," I said, in the understatement of the year.
   "Well be more careful," he grumped and went back to bed.
   After the adrenaline rush wore off, I decided I wasn't that hungry.
   I pay more attention when I cook now, whether or not it's popcorn on the stove.

Don't Try This at Home

   Did you know that powdered non-dairy coffee creamer is flammable?
   I saw an episode of "Mythbusters" where they showed an extreme example of just how big a ball of flame they could get from powdered creamer.  I had a pretty good idea I knew what they were getting into because I experienced the awesomeness of powdered creamer pyrotechnics first-hand.
   Several years ago, I worked for a place that had awesome employee parties a couple of times a year.  Once, around Christmas time, we had an employee dinner at a restaurant called "Stillwater Bay,"  which was located in downtown Stillwater, OK, and was known for their delicious steaks and seafood. 
   At the time, the Bay had candles on the tables, and the usual complement of salt, pepper, sugar, sweetener, and, of course, powdered non-dairy creamer.  During the evening at on point, I said to my boss, "Did you know Coffeemate is flammable?"
   "What"? he replied.  "I don't believe you!"

   Another employee, Amy, backed me up.  She and I, almost simultaneously, started demonstrating what happens when you sprinkle the powdered creamer onto a candle flame.  POOF! 
   We were having fun making small fireballs when I took it to an extreme.
   I emptied several packets into my palm and said, "Watch this!"
   WOOOMPH!  A big ball of flame shot toward the ceiling.
   About that time, our waiter was walking around the corner balancing a huge tray of food.  We nearly gave him a heart attack and he almost dropped our food.
   I was startled a bit as well, because I hadn't expected such huge flame.
   We settled down after that, and I'm pretty sure that my boss left a huge tip, not just for the great food and great service, but also because we hadn't intended to give our server a coronary.
   Less than a month later, Stillwater Bay, along with its associated restaurants - Eskimo Joe's and Mexico Joe's, stopped putting powdered non-dairy creamer on their tables.  Also, the real candles on the tables at the Bay were replaced with electric candles.
   It's possible that these changes were coincidental to my shenanigans of that one fateful, fun, flame-filled night.   What do you think?