No Rest for the Weary

Have you ever noticed that something always happens to distract you from what you are supposed to be doing? It never fails, at least, not at our house.
Cooking was my current occupation that sunny afternoon of The Event. I was eternally grateful to the AC units doing their jobs in the dining room and sala. (Living room)
The house was quiet, as my Uncle Erich was asleep in my room upstairs, trying to adjust himself to his new midnight shift. He was a police officer in our town, and one of the very best. But I'm biased.
This afternoon, as I stood quietly at the table putting the bread dough into freshly sprayed pans, the sound of my door squeaking open and the pounding of feet on the stairs reached my ears. I moved out of the way just in time as Erich flew by, sporting a sheet-marked face and his police radio. "Is it next door?!" He muttered incredulously.
Being the curious highschooler that I am, I nosily followed him outside and straight into pandemonium.
Our dear neighbors, John and Vicky Crow, were standing in their front yard, waving thier arms and yelling at Erich.
My grandfather jumped up and ran over to assess and see if he could help, while my grandmother and I frantically hooked up water hose after water hose. I pulled it across the road as quickly as possible, but I was too late. The firetrucks had arrived and we and our water hoses weren't needed anymore.
Mrs. Vicki stood helplessly around, hopping from one foot to another in anxious worry.
"What happened?!" I gasped, covering my mouth against the smell of chemical and plastic filled smoke.
"The truck" -gasp- "blew its engine!" -cough-
My eyes grew wide, but I was relieved to discover that it wasn't anything serious, like if her house had gone up in flames.
I watched, somewhat mirthfully, as a firetruck passed the house and kept going, confused as to the whereabouts of the fire. Mrs. Vicky gasped and grabbed my arm, alarmed.
"They missed us!"
I assured her it was fine, as two more fire trucks pulled up and instantly, the grounds were crawling with voluteer fire department members. Much noise ensued. On the whole, five firetrucks, one ambulance, and two vehicles belonging to firefighters crowded the narrow street.

It was nothing very serious.

Mr. John sighed a few minutes later as he slammed the hood down on his expired truck.
"Welp ! So much fer the oil change Friday!" he announced sorrowfully.
After a few more minutes, all was back to normal, and we still, to this day, have one very long hose in the side yard.