When I was a kid I had a book called Mysteries of the Unexplained that contained AMAZING BUT TRUE! stories aimed at stirring the imagination, eliciting a sense of wonder, and prolonging the bed-wetting experience by at least three years. I’d huddle beneath the covers with my flashlight and read about strange psychic phenomena documented by real scientists, physicists, private investigators, and the occasional freaked-out paranormal expert who, at the end of the story, usually abandoned his profession to become a plumber:
“Even now, after all these years, I can still feel those icy fingers whenever a cold breeze blows across my butt crack…”
Though the book was mostly about ghosts, aliens, strange disappearances and creepy folklore (“…so stand alone in the dark, if you dare, and hold a mirror while repeating the words Sassafras Sally and prepare to be slapped by a pair of wet tea bags…”), it was spontaneous human combustion that really got to me. I think it’s because, in my mind, ghosts, aliens, strange disappearance and folklore could all be avoided by exercising a little caution.
Spot an alien spaceship? Run.
Worried about Sassafras Sally? Introduce her to Chi tea.
Concerned about taking a cruise through the Bermuda Triangle? Go to Disneyland and settle for the “Pirates of the Caribbean” instead.
But burst into flames in the middle of Mrs. Frump’s sixth-grade classroom, and chances are you’d be reduced to a pair of smoking sneakers long before you could acquire a hall pass and make it to a water source. Because of this fear, I mapped out the location of every fire extinguisher and water fountain at Jane Adams Elementary, and remained within eight feet of something to douse myself with throughout much of the sixth grade. Suffice it to say, except for visiting the public pool and local fire station, I missed most of my class field trips.
I’m 47 now and, aside from “All-You-Can-Eat Frijole Night” at Juan’s Cantina, I’ve overcome my fear of spontaneously combusting.
At least until yesterday.
That’s when “Peggy” from our advertising department handed me a news article about a man in Warrnambool, Australia, whose clothes spontaneously built up 40,000 volts of static electricity. According to Frank Clewers, he was unaware of being a human power grid until a secretary noticed his shoes were burning a hole in the office carpet. After several awkward minutes of misinterpreting the secretary’s remarks of “You’re sizzling!” and “You’re making my hair stand up!” as sexual innuendo, Frank realized what was happening and contacted the fire department. Fire official Henry Barton believes it was the combination of Franks’ woolen shirt and synthetic nylon jacket rubbing together that created a charge “just shy of spontaneous combustion.”
I’m no electrician, but had shag carpet been involved, I doubt Frank would still be alive.
After reading about this incident, I thanked “Peggy” (whom I used to like), then slowly removed my nylon coat and wool sweater, trying to generate as little friction as possible by cutting them from my body with a pair of scissors. That’s because I’m one of those people who’s constantly building up small amounts of static electricity. Our cat became aware of this phenomenon after rubbing on my leg once. This was followed by a loud “pop,” a blue flash, and our cat performing a hissing cartwheel.
Needless to say, thanks to “Peggy,” my condition has now escalated from minor annoyance to full-blown phobia. I no longer leave the house without a copper wire running from my undershorts to the ground, and I go through at least four cans of “Cling Free” a day.
My kids have tried forcing me to face my fear by rubbing their hands on the TV screen and then running at me in the dark. This did not work. Not only that, but now we have to replace the coffee table.
I’m sure I’ll eventually overcome my fear again. In the meantime, I really need to finish mapping out the extinguishers and water sources in our office.
(Ned is a syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. His first book, Humor at the Speed of Life, will be released this December from Port Hole Publications. Contact him at nhickson@thesiuslawnews, or at Siuslaw News, P.O. Box 10, Florence, Ore. 97439)
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What paper did the article come from? Did it involve rabid squirrels losing several hours of time due to being held by aliens?
Haha! I promise it wasn’t Weekly World News or have anything to do with Batboy!
it’s always a good thing to have an ‘anti-spontaneous combustion’ plan in place. and, please stop using your aqua net hair spray immediately!
The only time I use Aqua-Net hair spray is when I’m using it as a blow torch to trap would-be assassins by welding the door shut.
I assume there’s no video footage of the cartwheeling cat incident. Otherwise I’m sure you’d be a YouTube sensation by now.
Which is not to say you’re *not* a YouTube sensation. . . .
Alas, no cartwheeling cat footage. And the closest I’ve come to being any type of “tube” sensation is when a bunch of people saw me ride an inner-tube down a snowy hill and into a frozen duck pond.
Again, no footage though 😦
Fortunately, you’re a most-excellent writer, so the story was probably awesome enough sans footage.
I’ll bet the frozen ducks were terrified, though.
You’re very kind 🙂
And fortunately for the ducks, they never knew what hit them.
I haven’t slept the whole night through since I discovered spontaneous human combustion. The horror of that poor person in England, nothing left above the knees… It only happens when a person sleeps. I hope.
I believe it’s mostly true, that it only happens when you sleep. So try not to toss and turn a lot. Just to be safe, I’d get rid of the wool blankets and shag carpeting…
This post awakened (awoke? woke up? aroused? stop already?) a repressed memory of visiting my grandmother’s house and my older siblings egging me on to shuffle across the carpet and touch Nana’s TV. Remember, this was back when TVs were run on glowing nuclear-powered tubes. ZAP! So now we both need therapy. Thanks, Ned.
Your comment awokeded me. What the hell, Ross?
…Ooops, I mean, thanks for sharing what was obviously a traumatic experience. But hey, it could’ve been a lot worse if you had shuffled across the carpet and touched Nana instead of her TV.
Dude. My Nana.
Sorry. I had a Nana once. Until I accidentally took her out with a static charge. I guess I just needed to say it out loud.
[laughing]
So sorry but I really did laugh at your children’s attempt to cure your phobia! Good stuff!
It’s OK. Laugh. I know their hearts were in the right place.
Right?
Just another reason not to wear wool and nylon together.
As if I needed a reason 😉
Yup. Because wool is itchy, and nylon is…wrong.
Lol! Very true 🙂
Is there really and shag carpet around anymore? good read.
Thanks, Gus — and yes, shag carpet still exists. But law requires that you can only walk on it with Cling Free sheets wrapped around your feet.
This could be a great way to get out of a loveless marriage. Just shower your spouse with nylon and wool clothing until you see the white smoke coming from your chimney signifying an opening tor a new significant other. Of course, I would never do something like that. Especially if Columbo was still around.
Hahaha! Like choosing a new Pope! But without all the chanting…
We must have read the same books as a child. I had flashbacks to my book reading nights in my bedroom and listening for bumps in the night.
That must have been an exciting day in Warrnambool because not much happens there. 😉
Those kinds of things stick with you like bad oatmeal. And as for Warrnambool, I think it’s fair not much happens there. Having to spell that name probably keeps them busy enough. 🙂
Shocking!