Holy shit
That's a direct quote, btw, from the Boy Child, sent seconds after the game-ending double play that gave my beloved Cubs their first National League pennant since "The War to end All Wars" was still a thing.
It's a sentiment I echoed fwiw. And still do.
Like many of you (at least the ones that share my affliction) I've spent the seconds, minutes, and hours (Oxford comma, it's ok. Really, it is) not only basking in the afterglow of last night's win, but thinking of the Cubs fans that aren't here to enjoy these moments.
I think of Diane and her Kerry Wood #34 jersey, one she wore often that last summer. And I wonder how many of these games we would have gone to, damn the cost. Not that she was extravagant, but she loved the team and I'm fairly sure she would've talked me into it.
For the record, it would not have taken much effort.
I think of my Mom and Dad, as many of my nieces, nephews, and my kids have. I think of how I owe my Cubs fandom to them, and all the time (and times) we spent watching or listening to their games. How, all summer long, regardless of the quality of play, it was a backdrop to much of what we did. I think it was the Oldest One that posted a comment about Gram, sitting at the kitchen table, fingers crossed, hands in a position of prayer, watching last night's game. And that's spot on, too. Actually, let me take a minute here to blame Mom for creating the superstitious sports fan in me. It's only been in the last few years that the rational part of my mind convinced the rest of my gray matter that the seat I chose, or the hat I wore, or whatever random act that happened to occur miles away from the actual event had no bearing at all on the outcome. That's all you El, lol. And if you ever watched a game with her, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
I don't recall the moment I knew I was a hopeless Cubs fan. But I do remember, vividly, standing in front of the TV in the living room of the house on Burlington Road (the blacktop for you long timers) swinging an imaginary bat along with the Cubs teams of the mid to late 60's and running imaginary bases in the living room. I even remember doing my best impression of the public address announcer back then as he called the next batter to the plate. Ernie Banks and Ron Santo were, of course, two favorites of mine, their joy for the game obvious even to the sub ten year-old me. But I always had a spot in my heart for Billy Williams. He was, and still is, an under appreciated ball player, Hall of Fame berth notwithstanding. Billy had the most beautiful swing, one I can still see clearly in my mind's eye. In fact, as I got a little older, yet still too young to understand my "skill set" would take me no farther (further?) than Little League, I decided I needed to learn how to be a switch hitter. And I patterned my left-handed swing after Billy's. Poorly, I might add, but still.
As I sit here, trying to put into words all the feels I'm feeling, reading and watching reactions of others, either fans or the players themselves, one thing came into focus for me. This is, for long suffering fans, an emotional event. And, for an emotional-type person such as myself, tears at a moment like this are pretty common. Yet, last night, watching the game and the aftermath, and occasionally texting with the Boy Child as we watched, I lost exactly one tear. And I don't even know if that one counts since I don't remember it rolling down my cheek, more like it got reabsorbed into the eye it tried to leave. And I'm not sure why that was all I had. If you know me IRL or if you've spent any time around here, you know how I am. For an event that I felt so personally attached to via my lifetime spent watching the Cubs play (mostly poorly) I expected feelings that were more visceral than logical, you know?
Maybe I understand that this is only another step on the teams journey, that the ultimate goal is not to make the World Series, but to win the World Series. I hope that's it. I hope that the adult in me has convinced my inner ten year old that this is a fine thing, but there's more, so much more, that waits and that will be far sweeter than anything that has been experienced yet. I've lived through a Bears Super Bowl (an NFL Championship too, but I was too young), six NBA titles (thanks Michael Jordan!), and four Stanley Cups (like with the Bears I only remember the most recent three) and all of those were great as a fan.
But this, this is different.
The Cubs are my first love.
They are attached to so many memories, good and bad; whether baseball-related or not.
I don't, of course, know what the next week will bring. None of us do. But I'm going to enjoy every minute of being a Cubs fan. Win or lose, I'm going to watch, or at least listen, to as much of this as I can. And I'll think about everyone that would've loved these moments, unleashing a lifetime as a frustrated fan.
They may win, they may not. Either way, life will go on. And I'm going to enjoy every minute it.
But I have a hunch it won't be 71 years before they get back to the World Series.
Go Cubs!
Peace
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Friday, October 7, 2016
Partners, friends, and un-indicted co-conspirators
Well, I alluded to this post yesterday and here it is. The Great One's birthday.
No, not Gretzky, at least I don't think (frankly I don't care enough about Wayne's birthday to hit the Google machine) it is.
The Great One, if you don't know, is the Great Vincenzo, Vinnie, the Chick Magnet, the Croatian Sensation aka Bryan. We were partners at the firehouse for eight years uninterrupted and that, class, ranks as the longest I ever worked with anyone over the course of my career.
Now, before I dive into this particular group of further fables from the firehouse, I'm going to use a quick segue into an endorsement of my favorite podcast "Firehouse Problems Kitchen Table Solutions" starring Seth Rainwater and Kyle Jones, both from El Dorado, Arkansas. Seth and I attended the IAFF Political Training Academy in February 2015 and in addition to a great education, we had more fun than you're probably supposed to in a class. So click on the link and check out their podcasts, they do a great job and obviously enjoy doing it. My personal favorite is Episode 23 featuring everyone's (?) favorite blogger. One of their regular bits is called Nicknames and Mustaches and there you have a high quality segue. Because Vin has more nicknames than any other single person I know.
Vinnie came on the job about six months after I did, at a different station and a different shift. So we never really had much interaction for the first few years. He takes great pleasure in telling anyone that will listen that when he first saw me he thought I was gay. I don't know why he thought that, getting a straight (see what I did there?) answer out of him is never easy. But regardless, that's what he thought. We started working together around 1997 or 98 and, miraculously, never got written up for anything. Now that the statute of limitations has expired, and pretty much anyone else that might be offended by our on duty hijinks has retired, I'll try and put a couple out for the general public.
Vin and I both got along really well with our Lieutenant back then, though he had a reputation for being... crusty. And we were fortunate in that the other members of our crew tended toward... unique. So, basically had we chosen to, we could have run naked up and down Main Street and it would've been fine because the boss was busy corralling knuckleheads.
We didn't, btw. And sorry for any visuals that might have caused.
We did, however, tend to disappear for long periods of time. Vin did most of the cooking at the firehouse so, of course, shopping for said cooking fell on us. And Fightin' Medic 2 would head off to the local Dominicks (pour some out for a departed grocery store chain) to take care of business.
Business, in this case, included making the rounds of pretty much every department at the store. The ladies in the bakery almost always had snacks for us so we'd start there. Then backtrack to the deli counter where one or both of us would chat up whoever happened to be there that day. From the deli we'd make our way over to the meat counter to see if we could get a hookup from the butchers. We usually did, btw. Not free, but a nice discount or at the very least they'd point us in the direction of the best sales. A quick stop by the service counter for more chattery with the ladies working there and, in due time, we'd make our way through the rest of the store to finish shopping. It wasn't unusual for this little expedition to last for well over an hour, which is about 45 minutes longer than it should have taken.
If we weren't tied up on one of our shopping trips, we were very likely prolonging our time in the Emergency Room after dropping off a patient. The regular routine would be to deliver a patient to whichever room they were assigned to, wait to give a verbal report to the nurse, and while one medic wrote up the paper (later electronic) report, the other would clean and restock the ambulance. All of this would generally take 30 or 40 minutes, depending on how in-depth the report needed to be. I don't think we ever made it out of there in under an hour, certainly not once we got transferred to Station 3, conveniently located across the street from the hospital. We had doctors to chat with, nurses to flirt with, many important things to do there, you know? It actually had certain fringe benefits, relationship building like that. Feeling a sore throat or sinus infection coming on? Ask one of the docs for a "Z-pack" and voilà; no office visit, no wait, no fuss, no muss. No joke, that alone was awesome. Of course, that was back in the good old days. You can't get away with that stuff now.
I think, however, my all-time favorite Vinnie story, one I've told dozens of times to a variety of audiences is this one-
It starts with Engine 3 and Medic 3 going out to do fire inspections, a regular part of our job. Vin and I were on M-3 but we were, for whatever reason all doing the inspections together. If I remember right, our Lt. for the day was an actor. That is to say, he was on the list to be promoted to Lt. but hadn't made it just yet. On this particular day, one of the businesses on our list was a beauty school. Is that the right name? A place where cosmetologists are trained? At any rate, it was, as you might imagine, populated by young, attractive women. With five firefighters doing the inspection. What could go wrong? As we wandered through the business, checking fire extinguishers, emergency lights, exit lights and the like we would chat up the students, all in good fun, of course.
When we were finished, as the Lt. was going over what we'd found with the manager, I did a quick head count and came up one short.
"Where's Vinnie?"
"I don't know, not my day to watch him" was the reply.
Now, since he was my partner on M-3 I couldn't very well leave without him, so I decided I'd better investigate further. As I walked through from room to room he was nowhere to be found and he's not an easy guy to overlook, you know?
But, as I walked past one of the salon stations with the curtains drawn, I heard a high-pitched giggle. I stopped, backed up and looked under the curtain. I saw two pair of feet, neither of them his. But then, I heard a lower pitch giggle and, throwing open the curtain I saw...
Vin. On his back on a salon table. Getting his eyebrows waxed.
"Really dude?" I said, laughing.
"What? They said they just learned how and wanted to practice. I needed it done. Perfect timing!"
That's the Vinnie I know and love, always looking to help out someone else.
Happy birthday friend. I hope you have a great day.
Love ya!
Peace
No, not Gretzky, at least I don't think (frankly I don't care enough about Wayne's birthday to hit the Google machine) it is.
The Great One, if you don't know, is the Great Vincenzo, Vinnie, the Chick Magnet, the Croatian Sensation aka Bryan. We were partners at the firehouse for eight years uninterrupted and that, class, ranks as the longest I ever worked with anyone over the course of my career.
Now, before I dive into this particular group of further fables from the firehouse, I'm going to use a quick segue into an endorsement of my favorite podcast "Firehouse Problems Kitchen Table Solutions" starring Seth Rainwater and Kyle Jones, both from El Dorado, Arkansas. Seth and I attended the IAFF Political Training Academy in February 2015 and in addition to a great education, we had more fun than you're probably supposed to in a class. So click on the link and check out their podcasts, they do a great job and obviously enjoy doing it. My personal favorite is Episode 23 featuring everyone's (?) favorite blogger. One of their regular bits is called Nicknames and Mustaches and there you have a high quality segue. Because Vin has more nicknames than any other single person I know.
Vinnie came on the job about six months after I did, at a different station and a different shift. So we never really had much interaction for the first few years. He takes great pleasure in telling anyone that will listen that when he first saw me he thought I was gay. I don't know why he thought that, getting a straight (see what I did there?) answer out of him is never easy. But regardless, that's what he thought. We started working together around 1997 or 98 and, miraculously, never got written up for anything. Now that the statute of limitations has expired, and pretty much anyone else that might be offended by our on duty hijinks has retired, I'll try and put a couple out for the general public.
Vin and I both got along really well with our Lieutenant back then, though he had a reputation for being... crusty. And we were fortunate in that the other members of our crew tended toward... unique. So, basically had we chosen to, we could have run naked up and down Main Street and it would've been fine because the boss was busy corralling knuckleheads.
We didn't, btw. And sorry for any visuals that might have caused.
We did, however, tend to disappear for long periods of time. Vin did most of the cooking at the firehouse so, of course, shopping for said cooking fell on us. And Fightin' Medic 2 would head off to the local Dominicks (pour some out for a departed grocery store chain) to take care of business.
Business, in this case, included making the rounds of pretty much every department at the store. The ladies in the bakery almost always had snacks for us so we'd start there. Then backtrack to the deli counter where one or both of us would chat up whoever happened to be there that day. From the deli we'd make our way over to the meat counter to see if we could get a hookup from the butchers. We usually did, btw. Not free, but a nice discount or at the very least they'd point us in the direction of the best sales. A quick stop by the service counter for more chattery with the ladies working there and, in due time, we'd make our way through the rest of the store to finish shopping. It wasn't unusual for this little expedition to last for well over an hour, which is about 45 minutes longer than it should have taken.
If we weren't tied up on one of our shopping trips, we were very likely prolonging our time in the Emergency Room after dropping off a patient. The regular routine would be to deliver a patient to whichever room they were assigned to, wait to give a verbal report to the nurse, and while one medic wrote up the paper (later electronic) report, the other would clean and restock the ambulance. All of this would generally take 30 or 40 minutes, depending on how in-depth the report needed to be. I don't think we ever made it out of there in under an hour, certainly not once we got transferred to Station 3, conveniently located across the street from the hospital. We had doctors to chat with, nurses to flirt with, many important things to do there, you know? It actually had certain fringe benefits, relationship building like that. Feeling a sore throat or sinus infection coming on? Ask one of the docs for a "Z-pack" and voilà; no office visit, no wait, no fuss, no muss. No joke, that alone was awesome. Of course, that was back in the good old days. You can't get away with that stuff now.
I think, however, my all-time favorite Vinnie story, one I've told dozens of times to a variety of audiences is this one-
It starts with Engine 3 and Medic 3 going out to do fire inspections, a regular part of our job. Vin and I were on M-3 but we were, for whatever reason all doing the inspections together. If I remember right, our Lt. for the day was an actor. That is to say, he was on the list to be promoted to Lt. but hadn't made it just yet. On this particular day, one of the businesses on our list was a beauty school. Is that the right name? A place where cosmetologists are trained? At any rate, it was, as you might imagine, populated by young, attractive women. With five firefighters doing the inspection. What could go wrong? As we wandered through the business, checking fire extinguishers, emergency lights, exit lights and the like we would chat up the students, all in good fun, of course.
When we were finished, as the Lt. was going over what we'd found with the manager, I did a quick head count and came up one short.
"Where's Vinnie?"
"I don't know, not my day to watch him" was the reply.
Now, since he was my partner on M-3 I couldn't very well leave without him, so I decided I'd better investigate further. As I walked through from room to room he was nowhere to be found and he's not an easy guy to overlook, you know?
But, as I walked past one of the salon stations with the curtains drawn, I heard a high-pitched giggle. I stopped, backed up and looked under the curtain. I saw two pair of feet, neither of them his. But then, I heard a lower pitch giggle and, throwing open the curtain I saw...
Vin. On his back on a salon table. Getting his eyebrows waxed.
"Really dude?" I said, laughing.
"What? They said they just learned how and wanted to practice. I needed it done. Perfect timing!"
That's the Vinnie I know and love, always looking to help out someone else.
Happy birthday friend. I hope you have a great day.
Love ya!
Peace
Thursday, October 6, 2016
The telephone game played out in real life
Well, that month just flew by.
Apparently whatever secret muse it is that controls the writing portion of my brain left town, cause I really haven't had much to consider sharing here. Meh, it happens, you know?
In the mean time, not much has gone on for the last month. A family birthday (s/o to the Quiet Child), some softball games for the Reigning Princess, a new crop of new guys at work (there's promise for future material there) and, tomorrow, another birthday, this one for the Great Vincenzo and there's DEFINITE potential for material there.
Just sayin...
So, if you come by here regularly you may recall my retelling of the last in-ambulance birth I was a part of (brief editorial note: When did people become incapable of telling the difference between "a part" and "apart"? They are distinctly different, people! C'mon, pick up your social media game would ya?) and I referenced how, often times the information gets lost between what happened, the caller, dispatch and us. And again, I'm not throwing stones at anyone in that chain, stuff happens, adrenaline gets pumping or there's some minute miscommunication that throws the whole thing off kilter.
Sometimes, however, it's easy to identify the weak link in the telecommunication flowchart that is inherent in one of our emergency responses.
Like, for instance, yesterday.
In the typical swirl of activity that takes place between lunch and dinner at the firehouse, we had a brief calm yesterday afternoon. Our Lieutenant was going over some things with our current new guy, the guys on Fightin' Medic 3 had just gotten back from another life-or-death emergency and I was left to my own devices.
The tones went off and we were dispatched to a "partial roof collapse of a building with a person trapped under debris." The dispatch included our Station, Truck 2, the Battalion Chief and the Safety Officer, a typical response for this type of incident. Now, this is not a common call for us to respond to. But as we rolled into action (conjures up a very heroic image, no?) all the thoughts were going through our heads of what we might possibly encounter. I knew the building we were being sent to, it once housed a motorcycle dealership, and has been vacant for quite some time. I hadn't driven past it for a while, but the thought that some construction or renovation for potential new tenants was going on made sense to me, so in that respect nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When we were around two blocks away our Safety guy requested PD to block off the street in front of the address. This also made sense to me since it could quickly escalate into a big deal, a large scale incident and quite frankly, it wouldn't have surprised me if someone had activated a Technical Rescue response. I anticipated also some type of update from our PD once they got on scene since they always beat us to larger incidents. They are, after all, already out on the street and they get the information almost simultaneously to us. But I didn't hear anything from the coppers. We were directed however to enter through the overhead doors and as we pulled onto the scene I saw an open overhead door on the west side of the building and drove to it. I also saw marker ribbon around the perimeter of the roof, indicating some type of work on the roof of the building and squaring, in my brain at least, the increased potential for collapse. We looked in from the cab of the engine and saw nothing to suggest a collapse had occurred. This immediately kicked in the "what did we miss?" response in our collective brains and we agreed to check the next building down since that business was mentioned in the dispatch. I backed away from the building and as I pulled past it the three of us looked through the front windows trying to see some indication of collapse. We saw none and I drove around the corner to check the next building.
The occupants there were looking back at us, probably wondering what the commotion was all about.
I drove back to our original position by the overhead door and we went in to investigate. The Lt. and our new guy went straight in and I peeled off to the right. I noticed several interior walls were still in place, so I thought the collapse must have happened somewhere that was shielded from our view by those walls.
As I made my way toward the front of the building I heard a voice calling out feebly "I'm over here" and started heading in the direction of the voice. I was looking for some sign of collapse the whole time, since I would've done no good for anyone if I got trapped too. As I walked to the front there was a row of small offices on my right, formerly sales offices I think. And, as I got to the last one I heard the voice say "they're here now, ok, thanks" and as I looked in to the last office I saw our patient lying on the floor with one leg bent underneath him.
And four acoustic ceiling tiles on top of him.
Yes, that's right.
You know them. Two feet by two feet square and about a half inch thick. Each one weighs roughly twelve ounces. You may have them in your home or place of business.
Acoustic. Ceiling. Tiles.
And, as I looked up to the ceiling I saw the underside of a completely intact roof about three feet above the dropped ceiling he had been trying to remove when the ceiling tiles let loose and landed on him.
All four of them.
I pulled the tiles off him and asked where he hurt. His response?
"I've got dust in my eyes."
Now, I have to admit right here that, in the past, I haven't always been as sensitive to what others might find offensive and have used terms that I'm not particularly proud of when describing certain individuals. But, I think I've made great strides in this attempt at self-improvement. I am, however, still exercising great restraint when it comes to what I desperately want to say in describing my feelings toward this individual. Let's just say that, in my personal opinion, this was perhaps the single-most inappropriate use of emergency resources in quite some time. Possibly in my entire career.
And there have been some doozies.
So, as it turns out, our "patient" was using a piece of the aluminum framing or track that the tiles rest in to pull the ceiling tiles down. And this action caused them to, of course, fall down. And gravity being what it is, they fell straight down on top of our plucky little survivor.
You've got to watch out for gravity, it'll get you every time.
There you have it, a perfect example of the single weak-link in the communication chain that leads up to a 9-1-1 dispatch. And the difference between what is perception and what is reality. Kinda helps illustrate why we try to take our dispatches with a grain of salt. And why we sometimes don't, even when we should, lol.
Oh, I almost forgot my favorite part. As the guys on the ambulance started assessing his "injuries" I heard him mention to them that he was (or *shudder* is) a firefighter.
Sigh.
Peace
Apparently whatever secret muse it is that controls the writing portion of my brain left town, cause I really haven't had much to consider sharing here. Meh, it happens, you know?
In the mean time, not much has gone on for the last month. A family birthday (s/o to the Quiet Child), some softball games for the Reigning Princess, a new crop of new guys at work (there's promise for future material there) and, tomorrow, another birthday, this one for the Great Vincenzo and there's DEFINITE potential for material there.
Just sayin...
So, if you come by here regularly you may recall my retelling of the last in-ambulance birth I was a part of (brief editorial note: When did people become incapable of telling the difference between "a part" and "apart"? They are distinctly different, people! C'mon, pick up your social media game would ya?) and I referenced how, often times the information gets lost between what happened, the caller, dispatch and us. And again, I'm not throwing stones at anyone in that chain, stuff happens, adrenaline gets pumping or there's some minute miscommunication that throws the whole thing off kilter.
Sometimes, however, it's easy to identify the weak link in the telecommunication flowchart that is inherent in one of our emergency responses.
Like, for instance, yesterday.
In the typical swirl of activity that takes place between lunch and dinner at the firehouse, we had a brief calm yesterday afternoon. Our Lieutenant was going over some things with our current new guy, the guys on Fightin' Medic 3 had just gotten back from another life-or-death emergency and I was left to my own devices.
The tones went off and we were dispatched to a "partial roof collapse of a building with a person trapped under debris." The dispatch included our Station, Truck 2, the Battalion Chief and the Safety Officer, a typical response for this type of incident. Now, this is not a common call for us to respond to. But as we rolled into action (conjures up a very heroic image, no?) all the thoughts were going through our heads of what we might possibly encounter. I knew the building we were being sent to, it once housed a motorcycle dealership, and has been vacant for quite some time. I hadn't driven past it for a while, but the thought that some construction or renovation for potential new tenants was going on made sense to me, so in that respect nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When we were around two blocks away our Safety guy requested PD to block off the street in front of the address. This also made sense to me since it could quickly escalate into a big deal, a large scale incident and quite frankly, it wouldn't have surprised me if someone had activated a Technical Rescue response. I anticipated also some type of update from our PD once they got on scene since they always beat us to larger incidents. They are, after all, already out on the street and they get the information almost simultaneously to us. But I didn't hear anything from the coppers. We were directed however to enter through the overhead doors and as we pulled onto the scene I saw an open overhead door on the west side of the building and drove to it. I also saw marker ribbon around the perimeter of the roof, indicating some type of work on the roof of the building and squaring, in my brain at least, the increased potential for collapse. We looked in from the cab of the engine and saw nothing to suggest a collapse had occurred. This immediately kicked in the "what did we miss?" response in our collective brains and we agreed to check the next building down since that business was mentioned in the dispatch. I backed away from the building and as I pulled past it the three of us looked through the front windows trying to see some indication of collapse. We saw none and I drove around the corner to check the next building.
The occupants there were looking back at us, probably wondering what the commotion was all about.
I drove back to our original position by the overhead door and we went in to investigate. The Lt. and our new guy went straight in and I peeled off to the right. I noticed several interior walls were still in place, so I thought the collapse must have happened somewhere that was shielded from our view by those walls.
As I made my way toward the front of the building I heard a voice calling out feebly "I'm over here" and started heading in the direction of the voice. I was looking for some sign of collapse the whole time, since I would've done no good for anyone if I got trapped too. As I walked to the front there was a row of small offices on my right, formerly sales offices I think. And, as I got to the last one I heard the voice say "they're here now, ok, thanks" and as I looked in to the last office I saw our patient lying on the floor with one leg bent underneath him.
And four acoustic ceiling tiles on top of him.
Yes, that's right.
You know them. Two feet by two feet square and about a half inch thick. Each one weighs roughly twelve ounces. You may have them in your home or place of business.
Acoustic. Ceiling. Tiles.
And, as I looked up to the ceiling I saw the underside of a completely intact roof about three feet above the dropped ceiling he had been trying to remove when the ceiling tiles let loose and landed on him.
All four of them.
I pulled the tiles off him and asked where he hurt. His response?
"I've got dust in my eyes."
Now, I have to admit right here that, in the past, I haven't always been as sensitive to what others might find offensive and have used terms that I'm not particularly proud of when describing certain individuals. But, I think I've made great strides in this attempt at self-improvement. I am, however, still exercising great restraint when it comes to what I desperately want to say in describing my feelings toward this individual. Let's just say that, in my personal opinion, this was perhaps the single-most inappropriate use of emergency resources in quite some time. Possibly in my entire career.
And there have been some doozies.
So, as it turns out, our "patient" was using a piece of the aluminum framing or track that the tiles rest in to pull the ceiling tiles down. And this action caused them to, of course, fall down. And gravity being what it is, they fell straight down on top of our plucky little survivor.
You've got to watch out for gravity, it'll get you every time.
There you have it, a perfect example of the single weak-link in the communication chain that leads up to a 9-1-1 dispatch. And the difference between what is perception and what is reality. Kinda helps illustrate why we try to take our dispatches with a grain of salt. And why we sometimes don't, even when we should, lol.
Oh, I almost forgot my favorite part. As the guys on the ambulance started assessing his "injuries" I heard him mention to them that he was (or *shudder* is) a firefighter.
Sigh.
Peace
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