The Night of the Dancing Red Scro***s

Ok, this is a first.  Usually I encourage EVERYONE to read these missives, but, today's post is... uhhh... I'll say PG-13.  And since Blogger doesn't have a way to post an "Explicit" rating, I'll do it this way.  So, to be clear, kids, don't let your kids read this one.

Now then.

If you know me IRL, you've probably heard me comment (read: whine) about winter.  As in-

I. HATE. IT.

Cold weather?  Hate it.

Gray sky?  Hate it.

Snow?  I'll grudgingly admit fresh snow has some charm, but roughly 11 nanoseconds after it stops falling?  Hate it.

I don't snowmobile, ski, snowshoe, sled, toboggan, ice fish, ice skate, ice sculpt, ice dive, I don't even like iced coffee.  In short, here's me in winter

And here's me the rest of the year

Side note, none of the people pictured are actually me.

Now, having said that, I'm doing my level best to enjoy what, with a little luck, is my last winter this far north.  And, as self-reflection tends to do, I occasionally expand my thought process to include fond memories from 24+ years at good old Local 3234.  

This particular round of warm fuzzies was prompted by the latest podcast from my friends Seth and Kyle.  This episode deals with Camaraderie in the Fire Service and they bring in a round table (disclaimer: for all I know their table is some shape other than round) of co-workers to talk about changes on the job over the years.  

One of the things they singled out was the advent of smartphones.  You know, we sit around the table at meals and at some point most of us are on our phones instead of talking to each other.  Now, while I don't necessarily disagree, I've noticed the same phenomenon at our place, I would push the real root cause of a lack of social discourse to the loss of bunk rooms.  And this actually also came out during the podcast, but imho it wasn't given the blame it probably deserves.  Clearly, smartphones have played a huge role in breaking up the family-like atmosphere, I just feel like this started the slide.

Allow me to illustrate.

Quick editorial note: even though I'm the only one left on the job and I'm fairly certain any possible statute of limitations has expired, I'm leaving names out of this one.

A long, long time ago, in a far off galaxy... Sorry, wrong story.  

Anyway, right around the time I came off probation, I worked in the only two story firehouse in town.  There were six of us regularly assigned there; a Lieutenant, an Engineer, a firefighter and three firefighter/paramedics.  Our bunk room was wide open, with the exception of a four foot high wall that divided the room length-wise and had three beds on either side of it.  Over the years, as I've looked back on these days, I always remember the excitement we all had over going to work.  Like, I never needed an alarm clock because I couldn't wait to get to work.  We referred to it as a sleepover in a treehouse with a bunch of twelve year-olds.  It always felt like we spent more time laughing than anything else.  And there was a steady stream of juvenile pranks.  One of the guys was, ohhh, let's say, jumpy.  For example if we were watching a suspenseful movie, he was the one that would jump out of his chair and scream during key moments.  He also had an aversion to being touched.  In an inappropriate manner.  Which, of course, provided all the encouragement we needed to touch him inappropriately every. chance. we. got.  

One night in particular, "jumpy" went to bed earlier than the rest of us.  This was because the rest of us were in on the plan.  A plan which required him to be either asleep or very close to it.  For maximum effect, and the stealth this mission required.  Every one else, save for two guys, was lying in bed, wide awake, in anxious anticipation, giddy as school girls.  The two remaining guys stripped naked and, grabbing only their flashlights, (that's not a euphemism btw, actual flashlights) crept quietly toward "jumpy's" bed.  As they got next to it, they each strategically placed their flashlights and, flipping their respective switches, illuminated their scrotal regions.  Now, before you think this is too kinky or anything, each guy illuminated his own.  What kind of sickos do you think we are?  At any rate, "jumpy" awoke to two glowing, spectral, amber-red, man-purses, floating eerily mere inches from his face.  

Hilarity, as you might imagine, ensued.  

As soon as we got jumpy down off the ceiling.  

Ahhh the good old days. See you can't quite pull off a thing like this with individual bunks.  Also this bit is almost certainly not going to go over well if you have female firefighter/paramedics in the house.  Don't misunderstand me either, I'm not one of those grumbling about how it "used to be better in the old days" and I think the better perspective might be "I'm glad there were no cellphones and/or social media back then" in no small part because really, how do you represent someone in the disciplinary hearing for something like this?  "Well, you see, Chief, ummm 'boys will be boys?'" is probably not going to get it done.

Having said all that, it was and will remain, one of my favorite memories of the best job I've ever had.

Peace