How Not to Make a Short Film – Act Three

At long last, the tale is told.

Down the Hatch – Act Three

Please note that this post originally appeared on Kyra’s MySpace Page in June 2006.

No one knew for sure if the fire department had been notified by the building’s alarm system. I ran to the storefront on Spadina to see if the alarm was going off there and, sure enough, it was. I asked the woman at the dumpling shop if she knew if the alarm would bring in the firetrucks. She said they wouldn’t come but that we had to call the owner if we wanted the noise to stop. The man from the fruit and vegetable shop next door showed me a phone number on the building and told me that was the number of the owner’s son. I would have to call him first because the owner spoke only Mandarin.

As I mentioned before, we were all quite delirious at this point and the prospect of speaking Chinese just made it funnier for me. I love having conversations in broken English and Chinese – mostly because no one thinks I can understand them and then they don’t know what to think when I speak to them in their language. They usually look at me and wonder what kind of crazy English I’m speaking.

I ran back to the crew in the alley and told them they could go back upstairs to reset because I was taking care of things. The alarm continued its high-pitched beeping.

I called the owner’s son and told him what happened. I assured him that the fire was out and he told me that he’d call his father to come and shut the alarm off. It would only take a few minutes. As I stood there waiting for the owner to arrive, I looked at the dumpling menu. For those few minutes, all I could do was stare at the sign and think about pork dumplings and egg drop soup. I’m so indecisive that I don’t order anything because, in fact, I want everything on the list.

While I stood there, NOT deciding on lunch, a firetruck came blasting down Spadina to the nearest intersection and firemen started climbing out of it. “Uh oh,” I think. “I hope they’re not going to come over here.” They looked around (as though they were looking for an address in a strange neighbourhood) and then (PHEW) walked up to a streetcar that was standing still and started inspecting it. They seemed completely oblivious to the fact that there was a building potentially on fire within 100 metres of them.

The owner arrives.

The woman from the dumpling shop is talking to him and telling him that I was the one who called his son. He doesn’t seem to listen. I walk with them to the box that controls the alarm system for the building and watch the owner as he takes his key out of his pocket and opens the little glass door. He presses a button and starts to close up the box. The dumpling woman is puzzled and says in Chinese, “But the alarm is still going off! What are you doing?” He walks away from the box and she tells him to follow her. I’m pretty confused at this point so I ask one of the waitresses what is going on. She tells me that the owner can’t hear the alarm and that he is actually deaf. The woman is trying to show him that the fire alarm light is flashing in their shop.

The old man actually looks a lot like an old boss of mine from Taiwan. He’s older, but has a similar countenance about him and I trust that somehow we’ll get through this. I decide to call the son again, to let him know what is going on. I pass the phone over to the dumpling woman and she speaks simultaneously and repetitively and loudly to both the son and the owner at the same time. This, for me, is the peak of hilariousness, if that’s a word. I motion for her to give me the phone.

The son says, “Oh, I can’t understand a WORD that woman is saying.” He asked for me to put his father on the phone but the father just pointed at his ear and said, “Ting bu dong”, which means that he can’t understand. While I’m on the phone, the son helps me convince the owner to open up the alarm box again and discuss the buttons on the box, which are all labelled in English. Every time I go to press a button, the father panics. There is a crowd growing by the doorway.

After pressing several buttons labelled “Buzzer Silence” and “Alarm Shut-Off”, I try “System Reset”, which sends the father into further panic but has the added benefit of finally stopping the noise. The son tells me that he will come tomorrow to reset the system. I hang up and the father and I exchange a two-handed handshake and say thank-you and good-bye in both languages. Loudly.

It has been accomplished.

-End Scene-

Please note (again) that this post originally appeared on Kyra’s MySpace Page in June 2006. She has re-posted it here for your education and enjoyment. She had someone at work read her re-post on Monday and ask, “How crazy was your weekend?” She would like to assure everyone that these events occurred two years ago.