What good can come of baked beans?

My parents went to Philadelphia this weekend to visit my cousin, her husband Mike, and their new baby. My mom told me an exciting story from this trip that I thought would benefit from a few of my special diagrams.

(This is an artist's rendering of the events that day - I wasn't there so, this is also the artist's interpretation)

Here's a set up of Mike and Denise's deck/patio.

Mike is up on the deck with the grill (Okay, that big gray thing is the grill. I know, its hard to tell. Give me a break.), making grill stuff. My mom is sitting at the table on the patio below the deck. Mike's grill is obviously fancier than ours and has one of those side burners so you can make stuff. Like, say.... baked beans. In a big pot.
Whoops! Looks like the baked beans are getting overdone, or something. Mike lifts the pot off of the burner and sets it on top of the grill while the rest of the stuff is cooking.
Now Mike needs to check on the stuff on the grill, so he opens the lid... with the pot of baked beans still on top. You can see where this is headed:

The pot of beans goes flying off the top of the grill, landing on the chair below, right next to my mom. A mom-covering-in-beans was narrowly averted, thank god. It would have been too bad, and yet totally hilarious, if she had been sitting in the baked beans chair though.

My mom called me on Monday morning as they were leaving town (in fact, they were in the parking lot at Pat's King of Steaks because my dad is a Pat's addict. Enough of an addict to require a cheesesteak at 9:15 am) but I didn't get to talk long because I had lab meeting. So, she didn't get to tell me this story until Monday night. I emailed Mike on Tuesday morning to tell him I was craving baked beans, and his response was 'I figured I'd hear from you about this before now!' Haha. Mike may not be our actual flesh and blood, but he knows us all well enough.

In the interest of fair journalism, two items should be presented in Mike's defense.
1) When we grill corn, we often melt the butter in a dish on top of the grill. On multiple occasions I've had the butter dish up there and opened the grill, flinging the dish of butter over the side of the deck, much in the same way Mike did with the beans.
2) Mike pointed out that this story is still not as embarassing as one concerning my own dear husband, which will go down in family history. And, in the history of anyone who hears that story actually. So, I think Mike's safe for a loooooong time as far as family stories go.