I would not make a good fireman. . .

Hunched over our living room coffee table, I am eating a meatball sandwich while watching The Wire with my roommate. As I am looking at the television, my roommate says with an urgent tone "Glen, look! Your bag's on fire! What are you gonna do?" He then takes one of those kitchen lighters and lights a corner of the white paper lunch bag. I stare at the flame, not really thinking anything other than, "Did he really just light my bag on fire, and is the flame really getting bigger." Gabe continues to yell "Come on Glen, what are you gonna do? The bag is on fire! Take care of that shit." I still kind of stare at it, thinking, "What the hell am I going to do about this?" Finally, Gabe yells, "Take that shit to the sink, motherfucker!" I glanced at him with a "What the fuck did you get me into!" look, grabbed the bag and started to run. At this point, more than half the bag was on fire. I tossed it into the sink and turned the water on, but it wasn't really aimed at the bag, so I had to grab the spray thing and douse the flame. I yelled at Gabe for a few seconds, telling him that I am incapable of effectively dealing with such situations, and how he could not have anticipated the flame would be that big when it was finally put out. Then we laughed about it for a good five minutes, since it was really funny. . . .