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Fool-Proof
By
Tim J. Vickers
Dave woke to the smell of smoke. He groaned and, without opening his eyes, inhaled deeply. Plastics and rubber, but there was also something a bit more acrid. Ah, burning insulation. Must be an electrical fire. He rolled over and opened his eyes to gaze resentfully at the smouldering alarm clock. Flames darted out of the speakers to the crackle of melting circuit boards.
Moaning weakly he reached under the bed, fingers scrabbling over the neat row of cylinders until he recognized the carbon dioxide extinguisher. Pulling it out, he checked the level and hoisted himself upright. Dave pointed the nozzle at the fire and then paused as an idea surfaced through the morning fog in his brain. Pulling a cigarette out of the trousers hanging over the foot board, he lit it on the remains of the alarm clock and then quickly doused the fire.
Dave smiled for a moment. That was a bit of luck there, he thought - even got me up on time for a change. He gathered his shirt from the floor and dressed carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his trousers and checking gingerly for any venomous spiders in his socks. Walking over to the stairs, he took a deep breath and, holding tightly to both banisters, slowly descended one step at a time. At the bottom he stopped and stared into the kitchen.
It’s all going too well, he thought, scanning the kitchen floor. The toaster lurked in the corner of the room like a malevolent and dangerous animal. Dave rubbed his wrist where the exploding crumpet had caught him last week and circled suspiciously towards it. Climbing onto the insulating mat, he fed in two slices of bread and pressed down the switch with a wooden spoon. It worked perfectly. Strange.
As Dave munched on the toast, he heard the taxi draw up outside, next to the battered wreck of his new car. With a sense of deep foreboding, he shook out his shoes, slipped them on and peered outside. It looked safe enough; nobody in the bushes and the trees seemed to be clear of squirrels. Dave bent down and slipped on a pair of bicycle clips anyway. He had found you were all right as long as the vicious little beasts didn’t get up your trousers.
Once inside the car Dave tried to relax. Perhaps this morning was going to be fine; he was up and out and it was a beautiful day. Arriving at the factory, Dave darted quickly past the automatic doors. As he pulled on the yellow safety officer’s jacket, his foreman beckoned from the far side of the shop floor:
“Good to see you Dave, come over here! We think we managed to fix that freak hazard you discovered last week with the bacon slicer, but could you come and have another good poke at it, just to make sure?”
Dave Murphy groaned. It wasn’t going to be a good day after all.
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