I was sitting in the old plastic chair in the office, the one that groans when you lean back, watching Joe unload his moving truck into unit 14. His whole life was in there, seems like. Boxes labeled “KITCHEN – FRAGILE,” a rolled-up rug, and a weirdly long box that could only be a kayak. He was stacking it all tight, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. The man was a packing genius. And it made my stomach hurt.
See, I’ve been the manager here at High Point Storage for going on fifteen years. I’ve handed out a lot of those orange-and-black moving dollies. I’ve also seen the aftermath of two fires in my career. Not here, thank God, but at other facilities. It smells like a wet, chemical campfire for months. It’s not just lost stuff. It’s lost yearbooks, lost baby clothes, lost business paperwork. It’s a particular kind of heartbreak.
So, I got up, grabbed two cold water bottles from the fridge, and walked out to Joe. “Packing masterclass over here,” I said, handing him one. He wiped his forehead.
“Trying to get it all in one trip!” he laughed.
I took a swig of my water. “Look, man, I don’t mean to be that guy, but can I show you something? As a former volunteer firefighter, it’s my thing. Humor me for two minutes.”
I’m not a corporate blogger. I’m Pete. I’m the guy who salts the icy driveway in winter and whose office always has cheap candy in a jar. And I’m telling you this stuff because I care about what’s behind your roll-up door.
The Myth of the “Harmless” Thing
People think the only fire risks are the obvious villains: gas cans, propane tanks. And yeah, obviously, don’t bring those. If you do, I will find out. You can’t hide the smell of gasoline from me.
But the real troublemakers are the ones that look innocent.
Take that box of cleaning supplies. You’re moving, you sweep everything from under the sink into a box. Bleach, ammonia-based glass cleaner, a half-bottle of nail polish remover. In a hot unit, those bottles can leak or off-gas. Mix some of those vapors together in a sealed space, and you’ve created a toxic, potentially flammable situation. It’s not likely to explode, but why would you even roll those dice with your grandma’s china sitting three feet away?
The Appliance Trap
This one gets folks all the time. They store a fridge or a freezer. They think, “I’ll just leave the door cracked!” But then the door settles shut. Now you’ve got a sealed, damp, dark box. If there’s any bit of food residue left in there… well, mold is the least of your worries. In the right (wrong) conditions, the spontaneous decomposition of organic material can generate heat. It’s rare, but I’ve read the reports. It happens.
If you’re storing an appliance, leave it unplugged, cleaned out with vinegar or baking soda, and with a big, obvious wedge keeping the door wide open. A pool noodle cut in half lengthwise works perfectly.
The Way You Stack is a Safety Feature
Back to Joe and his Tetris masterpiece. I pointed to the back of his unit. “See how there’s no air moving back there? The stuff is pressed right against the corrugated metal?”
He nodded.
“Heat builds up,” I said. “If, God forbid, something smoldered, it has nowhere to go but into your boxes. And cardboard is just fancy kindling. If you leave even a three-inch gap between your stuff and the walls, especially the back wall, it creates a buffer. It lets air circulate. It’s not wasted space; it’s a safety moat.”
I also begged him not to put all his paper—all his photo albums, books, and files—in one towering stack. “Spread it out,” I said. “Put a box of books next to a plastic bin of clothes. Clothes will smolder; paper goes up fast. Don’t give a fire one big, perfect fuel source.”
What We Do That You Don’t See
I walked Joe over to the bright red sprinkler head in the ceiling of his unit. “This isn’t connected to some big tank that soaks the whole building,” I explained. “See that little glass bulb inside? It’s filled with a glycerin-based liquid. When the air right around it hits a specific high temperature—usually 155 degrees—that liquid expands, shatters the glass, and only then does the water start flowing, just in this unit.”
His eyes got wide. “So my neighbor’s unit won’t flood if mine has a problem?”
“Nope. It’s targeted. We also have thermal sensors in the hallways that alert my phone and the fire department before there’s even a visible flame. We’re not just renting space; we’re running a watchtower.”
The Most Important Tip
My final piece of advice for Joe, and for you, is the most boring one: Label your boxes honestly.
If you’ve got a box of old paint cans or lawn chemicals, don’t write “GARAGE STUFF.” Write “HAZARD – OIL PAINT & THINNER.” In an emergency, that tells me and the firefighters exactly what we’re dealing with before we open the door. It can change their whole approach. That honest label is a gift you give to everyone around you.
Joe ended up spending an extra twenty minutes rearranging. He created an aisle down the middle. He used my spare pool noodle for his fridge. He made a separate, clearly marked box for his garage chemicals.
He didn’t do it because a manual told him to. He did it because another human being, who drinks the same bad coffee and worries about the same things, took a minute to explain the “why.”
That’s the heart of it. At High Point Storage, we’re not a faceless company. We’re Pete, and Maria at the front desk, and Carl who does maintenance. We’re people looking out for your things. We built this place with concrete block walls, steel doors, and top-tier fire systems for a reason. But the best system in the world needs a partner—that’s you.
So next time you’re in, if you see me hanging around, ask. “Pete, is this okay to store?” or “How should I pack my dad’s old model train collection?” That’s my favorite part of the job. Really.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I heard the dolly wheels squeak. Someone’s moving in. Gotta go say hello.
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