Have you ever been in a building fire?

No, I have not, thank the Gourd. I shudder to think.

No, but it must be a terrible experience.

No.

And by the way can you provide the link?

No, and I am in California, but Northern CA. Yes, it is really bad.
The closest I have come to a fire disaster was a few years ago when I was partying with friends on a summer night in my hot tub and lit a citronella torch in a huge, potted Blue Spruce tree on my deck and it melted down, caught the resin pot on fire and started a small brush fire underneath my deck from the seeping, molten plastic dripping down.
Thank God I saw it before it burned my house down and spread to my five acres and neighbors 10 acres.

Seriously, I would have killed myself if I was responsible for a forest fire.

Yep. Not long after my mom kicked my dad out of the house, the place we were living “mysteriously” caught fire. So there I am, 4 years old, being carried down the back stairs of a third-floor walk-up at 2am in the middle of winter. There was also a close call when my stepfather’s motorcycle blew a fuel line, dumped gas all over the hot exhaust pipe, and went up right next to the bush out front. No 911 then, but we managed to soak things down well enough to keep it from spreading and catching the house. I’m not counting the controlled blaze every sailor fights during Boot Camp.

The scary part isn’t the fire. If you have even a little common sense, you already know where the exit is, and probably multiple exits. The scary part is what the fire leaves behind, and the after-action realization of having a brush with your own mortality. At the time, all you’re thinking about is survival. Afterwards, then you worry about where to live, or imagine what could’ve happened, but that comes later. Fire itself isn’t scary.

I lived in a building that burned in a fire. I was in the building when the fire started. No, I don’t think I came close to death or anything like that, and yes, it was very sad for my possessions. There’s a whole story I can tell, but if I relay the details here, and anybody I know ever read this, they could possibly figure out who I am, so I will leave the details off.

I lived in los angeles in the early 80s. On thanksgiving day, I had spent the night with a guy I was dating that had all those locks on his door that you see in American cities. We left a candle burning on a clock radio, the whole place caught fire, and we could not undo the many bolt locks on the door. I was sick with smoke inhalation, vomited for a few days. My hair fell out. To this day my hair is lighter in colour.

At 12 our house burnt at 2am, electrical. I’m still ocd about fire & unplugging things & not being attached to “things.”

Yeah. Our house caught fire once, but I was way too young to remember any of it. From what I understand we stayed with my grandparents for a few days until we found a new place.