Further fables from the firehouse

That may be the most F's I've ever used in one sentence but it just felt right.

So, we've all got stories from work; some dramatic, some... less so and some downright hysterical. Today, inspired by a text conversation with an old friend, retired from here last year, I've decided to share some with the class.

First, a disclaimer of sorts.  Don't get me wrong-

A.) I love my job.
B.) I work (and have worked) with many outstanding human beings.
C.) Nothing in this job precludes us from our fair share of knuckleheads, space cadets and nerds.

Sorry kids, but you know it's true.  Despite efforts of some to paint this profession as some sort of superhero, many times we are nothing more than a bunch of 16 year olds on a sleepover.  Again, that's not to say we don't have many fine individuals among our ranks, it's just that, well, we're people, after all is said and done.  We sometimes make mistakes.

For instance.

Twenty plus years ago, I had about eighteen months on the job when Greg got hired.  I was going through a bit of a slump at that time.  I hadn't had a "good" fire in forever.  We'd had car fires, dumpster fires, small grass fires, but nothing of consequence.  Other shifts had fires, but I was riding a shutout.  We were assigned to the original Station #2 at the time.  It was an old, borderline decrepit, barely functional firehouse and it was loved by anyone that worked there.  Located on the main drag in town, it was really a neighborhood firehouse, something that added to it's charm.

Or maybe it was the lead paint altering my recollection.

I kid.

I think.

At any rate, on this particular day, I was driving the ambulance and Greg was riding backwards on Engine #2.  This meant that if we caught a fire, Greg would have the nozzle and my job was to assist him and our Lt. on the hose line.  But I never got fires.  Except for this day.  The call came in late at night, I don't remember the exact time, but for the sake of the story, let's say it was around 11:30 pm.  As I've mentioned here before we never really take the information given on 9-1-1 calls at face value.  So when the call for a house fire came in we got ready like it was legitimate, but doubted the veracity of the dispatch.  Until we pulled onto the street, about four blocks from St. #2  and saw smoke rolling across the street ahead of us.  We all fell quickly into our assignments.  Greg stretched the hose line to the front door and I grabbed a halligan to force our way in if needed.  I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say we were pretty jacked up, even though it was only a smallish fire.  We masked up, gave each other the thumbs up and while kneeling at the front door, I reared back with my halligan to give the door a good hit to loosen it up before I popped it open.  I hit that sucker with all I was worth and to my surprise the front door flew open on the first hit.   I set the halligan alongside me  and in one motion turned and started into the doorway.

And almost broke my face as the door rebounded off the inside wall and slammed shut micrometers from said face.

I hit the door again, again opening it with one hit but THIS TIME I kept my hand in the doorway to prevent further embarrassment.  The rest of the fire was pretty forgettable but Greg and I both have gotten many laughs from this particular story.

Now this next story may have occurred before the first one, it might have happened after.  Timing is not germane (an underused word imho) to the story.  Either way it's another shining example of public service excellence.

And wisdom, don't forget wisdom.  On many topics...    

On this particular day, I was driving Engine #2 and Greg was again riding backwards.  Dave, our Lt. rounded out the engine crew.  Mid-afternoon we got a call for a tree on fire.  That's actually a little more common than you might think, but usually it's due to power lines in the tree shorting out and starting the tree on fire.

Not so this time.  I have no idea what started the fire, but as we pulled up, sure enough, from the yard on the southeast corner, there was smoke wafting from the main trunk of the tree, about nine or ten feet off the ground, at the point where the branches split.  We pulled the trash line and dumped, I'm pretty sure, all 500 gallons from our tank into the tree.  We looked into the tree and saw charring as far down as we could see from our ladder.  And both of us, confidently, told the woman that lived there she would need to call an arborist to come in and cut down the tree, as it was CERTAINLY dead after the fire burned out the center of the trunk so badly.

I think about that story every time I drive through that intersection and see the tree, a Sycamore I think, fully leafed out.  The lady probably looked at us like we each had an eye in the middle of our respective foreheads.  Twenty years proved her right, I'd say.

There you have it boys and girls, two of my (and there are probably more than I'd care to admit) less than flattering examples of excellence.

Hey if you can't laugh at yourself, what good are you?

Peace