Dennis Goes For A Ride

Big feet = big boots.  Sometimes, too big.

The air horn for Engine 33 is controlled by a foot switch on the officers’ side of the rig.  There is a whole bevy of foot switches to make different sirens do different things.  As is typical, there is a reason for what is basically a piano of really loud noisemakers on the floor in front of the officers’ seat.  Turns out, driving a million pounds of water at a high rate of speed in something with the cornering prowess of a concrete block is a touch stressful.  So, to lighten the stress load on the driver and let him concentrate on somehow arriving on scene with the whole contraption still intact, the officer controls the sirens and blows the air horn.

If I have ever climbed into the officers’ seat on 33 without inadvertently stepping on the air horn button, I have no memory of doing so.  To be fair, Lotuses (Loti?) have more indulgent foot wells than the officers’ seat on 33. 

Wednesday, for example.  Get a page for a garbage can fire near a vehicle.  Probies James and Lexi, and Operator Alan arrive at the station.  With me, we have a foursome, which is more than enough for a garbage fire.  No officer is present, so the Probies go in back, Alan takes the wheel and I climb into the officers’ seat, setting my helmet on the dash.  Inadvertently blast the air horn just as Alan is climbing in.  Sorry, Alan.  Big feet, small space. 

Leave the station and it is not more than ninety seconds to arriving on scene.  I handle the radio comms and play with the really loud piano at the intersections, while strapping into the air pack.  Thirty seconds out, see a column of smoke.  “Next street, take a right Alan”.  Doing some officer style navigation, even. 

Arrive on scene and see the fire before anyone else, given it is on my side of the rig.  It is more than a garbage can near a vehicle.  The garbage can is long since gone, the fire has spread in one direction to under a vehicle and in the other direction to a garage, with a corner of the garage burning.  There’s some spent fire extinguishers from police officers laying in the yard, and the fire is growing. 

Tunnel vision, again.  Fire is bigger than we were told and it is visibly growing in size every second.  I manage to quickly tell County dispatch Engine 33 is on scene, but that’s it.  No initial size up communicated, as a good officer would do.  And (this is the real problem) no instructions to James or Lexi in back.  I don’t grab the officer’s clipboard, or my radio.  I don’t even put my helmet on.  See fire.  Put out fire.  

I tear the SCBA out of the seat and leap out of the truck and grab the hundred feet of hose folded into the front bumper.  Don’t wait for any help.  Just rip the hose out and flake (spread) it out so water will flow and get the nozzle to the fire, trusting that Alan is at the pump panel, and will have water for me when I get to the fire.  For some reason, I am counting in my head. 

Trusting in Alan is always a good plan, and water arrives as the count in my head reaches 22.  Twenty-two seconds from arrival to water on a fire is a very, very good score.  I knock all the visible fire down in well under a minute, and then hand off the nozzle to James to go talk to the homeowner.  There is smoke coming out of the eaves of the garage and we need to get inside to see what is going on.  Instruct James to go get a TIC (thermal imaging camera). 

Garage door only opens from a switch inside the house so the woman goes inside to open the door.  Worried that opening the door could cause any interior fire to rapidly escalate, mask up / hood up /  air up to be ready for anything (well, anything that does not need a helmet because that is still in the truck) and get ready with the nozzle. 

Door opens and a plume of thick brown smoke pours out, unveiling four Harleys but no fire.  Ventilate the garage and have James explore every part of it with the TIC.  Cool off a corner with the hose some more to get it so it is not worrisome.  Chief 3 Small has arrived and takes over command. 

There was a fire.  It was growing.  We stopped it.  Nobody injured.  Nobody lost a home, or a Harley. 

That is a good day in the fire service. 

Go home and shower, then back to Village Hall.

Next day, just by coincidence, Engine Ops is on the agenda for training night.  Wherein everything I did wrong by putting out the fire as quickly as possible is (very collegially) discussed.  While I was as contrite as could be, the peasant scene from Holy Grail, with its take on supreme executive power, was playing in my head. 

County Dispatch, Poynette Engine 33.

Go 33.

Dispatch, Engine 33 is without an officer.  We are operating as an anarcho-syndicalist commune. I am acting as a sort of executive officer for the run.

Say again, 33.

We are a volunteer firefighting collective, having thrown off the shackles of capitalism and wages.  Workers of the world, unite !

Engine 33, your mic is open. 

All my decisions have to be ratified at a special biweekly meeting.

What?

By a simple majority for internal affairs. 

Who is this?

But by a two-thirds majority …

Engine 33, be quiet.  I order you to be quiet. 

Dispatch, nevermind.  I never wanted to be a fire officer anyway. 

Engine 33, that is good to hear. 

County Dispatch, Engine 33.

Go 33.

Dispatch, I always wanted to be … a lumberjack.