My husband and I sometimes stay in the apartment above his business when we are in that part of the country. Last summer we were there with our dogs and our lab was experiencing skin allergies. The vet advised us to cook lamb and rice for him, so there I was in the employee kitchen, giving the lamb a good searing as though Cooper would not eat the lamb unless it had a nice tasty crust. Ha!
Anyway, many products stored at this business are highly flameable and therefore an intense fire prevention code is in place, including a deafening alarm that is directly wired to the local fire department (where, incidentally, several acquaintences of my husband are on duty.) Unfortunately, once the alarm goes off, there is no calling off the fire department. They must send a unit.
You know the story... the unit arrived - huge red truck, everyone in their gear. I, trying to take the heat off my husband (since it wasn't his fault) quickly offered how sorry I was. "It was my fault, I was cooking lamb for our dog." Of course, this raise eyebrows as in "what kind of knit wit would cook fresh lamb for a dog." Needless to say, my husband took a lot of ribbing over that one. He loves to tell the story though.