The Pilot and Me

I was only 15 (almost 16)
When I got my first apartment
Anyway
As you have probably heard I can’t, don’t, won’t cook
I never wanted to learn
I didn’t even know how to work the oven
It was a gas oven
I had no clue what that meant
I wanted to dry my shoes
It rains a lot in Seattle
My shoes were soaked and they were my only pair
I called the landlord
I pretended I was trying to work the oven so I could cook food
I didn’t want him to know I was drying shoes in there
I told him that when I turned the knob nothing happened
He said “the pilot must be out; just light it and the oven will come on”
I, not wanting to sound too stupid said “OK” instead of asking what a pilot was
So I thanked him and hung up the phone
Back in the dinky kitchen I inspected the entire oven
Looking for a label or sign or anything that said “PILOT” on it
There was nothing
So I turned all the knobs and held a lighter to the top of the stove
Well how bout that!
The stove lit It worked fine
The oven must work the same way
I turned on the oven
Opened it
Stuck my entire upper body, arm first, inside
Looking for the place where the gas shot out
Like it did on the stove
I could smell it but I couldn’t see where to light it
I lit the lighter thinking I could see better if I had a little light
WOOOOOOOOOOSH!
It made a sound like that
Kinda
It was HOT too
For the next 4 or 6 months I wore an ugly hat every single day
Because when I lit that lighter and that big ball of flames shot out
I burned my bangs off completely
Not to mention the hair on my arms
My eyebrows
And my eyelashes
People called me “that girl with the hat”
Much like they call me “That redhead” today
Anyway I still don’t know where they keep the pilot light on a gas oven
I never tried it again
The whole time I lived there I only used the stove
And my feet got all ooogy from wearing wet shoes all the time