So, I’m not sure if I mentioned this in my last post about my new job, but I got it really quickly and had to move to Atlanta very quickly.  Which is awesome, but also stressful.  Luckily, I have a very wonderful and kind friend who already lives near Atlanta (we’ll call her La Professor) and is letting me stay with her.  This story is about her townhome, and the adventure we had after work one day…

So, I pulled up in the driveway and saw La Professor wandering around in the yard talking on her cell phone.  That was pretty strange, but I thought maybe she’d just gotten home a few minutes before me and hadn’t made it inside yet.  I got out and found out that there was a potential gas leak in LP’s house.  Here’s what transpired before I arrived: La Professor arrived home and caught a whiff of gas in her house.  She went next door and knocked on her neighbor’s door to ask him to come next door and see if he could smell gas as well, but there was no need because in his apartment, the gas scent was so strong it would knock you down.  So they called the gas company and stood outside in the chilly twilight until he arrived to check it out.

So by the time I got there, Fernando the Gas Man was walking around the townhouses with his little gas detecting machine, trying to find the source of the leak, and also finding dangerous/not up to code conditions in both houses.  When he came back outside and saw us standing in the yard, he said, “What are you doing?  Do not be afraid of the gas!”  La Professor told him that when she called the emergency line for the gas company, they told her to stay outside the house.  He thought that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard!  “Do not be afraid of the gas!” he kept saying, with his Spanish accent.  “Power is far more deadly!”

Fernando then proceded to show La Professor how to light her pilot light and how to light her gas stove when the lights were off.  He was the nicest and most helpful utility person I’ve ever seen.  But when we went in the kitchen, Fernando got very interested in the bread* that was rising in the oven, almost ready to bake.  “How long does this take?” he asked, pointing at the pale loaves.  “Only about 35 minutes,” La Professor replied.  “Well…  What else can I do that takes 35 minutes?” Fernando asked, and winked.  LP told him he was welcome to stay and she would happily give him a loaf, or that he could go somewhere else and come back when it was ready.  He laughed and said no, no, he was just kidding.  Then he went off to help the neighbor with his not-up-to-code issues. 

Twenty minutes or so later, there was loud banging at the patio door.  “Has it been 35 minutes yet?”  Fernando yelled through the window.  Sadly, he had to leave before the bread was done, because we gladly would have sent him off with a loaf or two.

Oh, and it turns out that the third townhome over from LP’s was the source of the leak.  It is unoccupied, up for sale, and no one could contact the owner, but Fernando turned off the gas to make sure that we would all be safe!

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*It must be said that La Professor (and her mom, from whom she gets the recipe and approximately 30-year-old bread starter) makes the BEST sourdough bread EVER.  Seriously.

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