Pyro Part II, The Outhouse

I believe much of my pyromania stemmed from the unenlightened attitude of parents when I was a child. They did such horrible things like tell us to go out and play. They then left it up to us to create our own entertainment and sent us on our way like so many young coyotes. So, not having the "benefit" of nursery school or kindergarten, we set about to invent our own amusement. We pretty much took over anything that had been abandoned whether it be a dynamite shack, old grain combine, building, town dump, or outhouse. These became our forts, clubhouses, etc. One abandoned outhouse in particular was behind the defunct Midway Cafe, it (the cafe, NOT the outhouse) had been a semi-fine greasy spoon where my mother had served as cook before the town incorporated and became known as Atomic City, and she became the town clerk and Justice of the Peace. She was the first woman to marry a couple there (I have the newspaper clipping to prove it). Again, I digress, this outhouse made a great fort because, with the advent of indoor plumbing, the hole underneath had been mostly filled in with dirt and no longer had that lovely fecal odor. A horizontal board was missing on one side (so much for privacy) but the door could still be secured from the inside allowing us to carry on our nefarious deeds free from the prying eyes of humans. We had also dug under the back of the building to allow semi-easy exit should we be discovered by grown-ups or s. On the day that shall live forever in my brain, Chuck Knight found a match. Yes, that's right, a single match left in a discarded matchbook. On any given day in Atomic City, it was either windy or windier so we got our other partner-in-arson, Rick Boisjollie, and adjourned to the out/clubhouse. We also brought some torn up newspaper in a mason jar. With ONE stinking match our opportunity for some nice flames was rather limited. After several failed attempts, Chuck finally lit the match then the newspaper in the jar. At this point things become a bit hazy what with Father Time clouding my memory but at any rate, while we were watching the flames in the bottle, somebody, probably me, thought it would be a grand idea to also set fire to a large piece of cardboard that was on the wooden floor. Ooh, aah, cool fire. Oh oh! The flames are now licking up the door. The LOCKED door. Not wanting for us to become crispy critters, I gathered what puny thoughts I had remaining and shouted, "Down the bumhole boys!" So down said bumhole we rapidly went and climbed out the emergency egress hatch. Whew! Safe at last. We were on the outside and the fire was on the inside. Rick and I thought we'd better put the fire out now since Chuck remembered it was his nap time and ran home. We began the rather futile and puny effort of tossing little handfuls of dirt through the opening in the side left by the missing board. In our defense, we lived in a desert so the thought of using water never entered into our little heads. The conflagration eventually became large enough to attract the attention of some larger human beings who stood around and watched the out/clubhouse burn to the ground. I was certain we would both be beaten (unenlightened remember?) but John Weise, the owner of said outbuilding, showed up and said, "Ah, I was going to get rid of that eyesore anyway, now I don't have to haul it off." Thus we were off the hook and thoroughly unrepentant. Next time, dear readers, how to burn a garage to the ground without really trying.