So we dropped a BBQ off the side of our balcony today… A full, lit, flaming, meat filled BBQ. It’s a bit of a long story, so I’ll explain:
Yesterday when Pete got up at around noon (which is early for him) we chatted for a bit and reminisced about the BBQs at our parent’s places outside the city. For us now it’s been a good 3 years without a BBQ. (This does not include when we climbed up to the very top of the Arcology and roasted sausages above a barrel fire.) So after a bit of wishful thinking I remembered a BBQ that I had seen for sale somewhere on 22 (level 22 that is). So while Pete had a shower I went down to 22 to find this BBQ.
Elevators run up and down the core and on 3 sides of the Arcology, I almost always opt for the centre bank of elevators as they are repaired the most frequently and the stories of getting stuck for days and having to have relatives come and bring you food (if they find you) are less.

22 isn’t a bad level by any means, the people who live there take good care of their level and have organized a ‘neighbourhood watch’ to deal with any ‘undesirables’ coming to party in their back yard. Really the only downsides about 22 are the lack of proper lighting, which has been redone with LED Christmas lights, and the lack of any view of the outside world. I’m sure there’s a few apartments that can get a glimpse of the sky but you could probably count them all on one hand. So stepping out of the lift on 22 I am greeted by several intimidating men who, not so politely, want to know what I’m doing on their floor. As it turns out they know the lady with the BBQ and are willing to escort me to her flat.
Knocking on the door to the apartment and waiting a few minutes yields the reward of a nostril full of spice and an air dried shell of a little Asian woman who answers every, literally every, question with yes… until I try and lower the price. Half way through our debate a cat darts between the woman’s legs and makes a break for freedom. Suddenly the hall is filled with the loudest Asian language I have ever heard; the small shell of a woman yells so loud that the cat freezes mid stride, turns and runs back to the apartment with an ashamed look of kitty humiliation on its down turned face. Not wanting to incur such a wrath myself I agree to a price of $4USD for the BBQ.
Lugging the thing back to the apartment isn’t so bad, while I was out Pete went down to the market and grabbed some sausages and veal. Veal? You ask? Well, we would too, but we’ve learnt better now, so don’t ask.
Now for any of you who went back and read old posts you might be wondering… ‘how are you going to put a BBQ on your unfinished, suicide inducing, balcony?’ The answer: A butane torch. That’s right we’re melting it in place.
Billiant?
As it turns out… no. Back to the beginning of this blog: Pete and I watch in horror as the BBQ topples end over end, glowing orange coals and our sausages establishing an orbit, before knocking off someone elses balcony and becoming the equivalent of a US white phosphorus barrage. So instantly the possible new headlines for the next day go through our minds: ‘Orphans horribly scared by burning coals.’ ‘Propane stores blown sky high.’ ‘Arcology burnt to the ground.’ ‘Millions dead’
So of course we rush down to take care of the problem. Rushing down takes about 15 minutes due to elevator delays. Running out onto the terrace of 3 which is where the bbq landed we see a huge group of people standing around. The pavement is wet where hoses have been brought out and all the coals (and my sausages) have been extinguished. Disaster averted… or not. Just we have decided to cut our losses and mourn the loss of my $4 we hear a revolutionary yell. A man has stood on the stone bench next to the mob and is yelling something about those bastards on 12 taking things too far. So what to do? A) Jump up and down claiming responsibility and risk the possibility of being tomorrow market special. Or B) Yell ‘Viva la revolution’ and make a break for the door.
So, one ‘option B’ later we’re back in our apartment debating what to do about food. Pete goes to roll a joint to calm our nerves and I go sit on the edge of our unfinished balcony to see if I can see any burning effigies.
Just another day in the Arcology.