Probie VII

Show up.  Do Hard Shit.  So says the sticker distributed to me and some other Poynette firefighters who showed up and …, well, … did some difficult stuff.  The learning continues and one thing you learn is the underside of a firefighter’s helmet is a window to their soul.  That’s where the “Show up…” sticker was supposed to go.  You can’t be swearing, or doing anything that could reflect poorly on the Department, on the outside of your helmet.  Even if it’s your own personal battle-tested climbing helmet.  The IMPEACH NIXON and I Picked The Wrong Week To Stop Sniffing Glue stickers might raise eyebrows. 

I honestly don’t think anyone I might be rappelling down a cliff to save is gonna fire off an angry late night email about a joke on the outside of my helmet.  But, them’s the rules.   

On the outside, you’re repping the Department.  Underneath, you can let your freak flag fly.  Favorite band(s).  Favorite nation.  Preferred invisible amorphism in the sky.  The witticism(s) of your choice.  You could even have a Chicago Cubs sticker on the bottom of your lid, and nobody can do anything about it.  Of course, the underneath of mine is completely stock, because I’m still a probie and I don’t have any opinions about anything except how happy I am to be here, Chief.  Are you sure there isn’t a hose that needs to be re-rolled? 

The outside.  The inside.  Whatever your gig, however wide the margin is between what you show to the world and how you really are (if you know) inside is going to be kinda important.  I'm often wrong, but I think it's easiest and best to keep the inside and outside as close as practicable.  Except, I suppose, for actors.  

I’m sticking with whatever the opposite of risk averse is, whilst bemused.  Inside.  Outside.  No one gets out of this alive, so go with bemused.  Add in some sturdiness and as big a helping of kindness as you can muster.  Go with that and you’ll (or at least I’ll) be ok.  But take care to dole out the bemusement in carefully calibrated doses. 

The first joke I told at the fire department was “what if there’s not enough room for ALL the meds I’m on?”.  Quizzical.  Deadpan.  Serious.  Sitting in the muster room and handed a medical form to fill out, when I got to the meds line, I thought … let’s get this ironically detached part out in the open now.  I don’t take any meds, but how were they to know that at the time?  So, um, not a big laugh at the time.  Some curious glaces but, ya know, you get used to that.  

Couple days after the Show up sticker was distributed, we were out on a medical call in the middle of the night, helping someone from their house to the ambulance, across a Maginot Line of dog shit.  Dog shit everywhere.  So.  You’re there, squishing and slipping your way to public service with a smile and you can’t say a word or frown or do anything to make the person on the stretcher feel bad.   After the ambulance leaves, the boots get placed in an outside compartment for the ride back to the station, where you’ll then learn about the hose splashing you back in the face in the middle of the night as the officers write up the report. 

Then you go in and ask – quizzical, deadpan, serious – “Is this where I get my Show Up, Step in Dog Shit sticker?”

Some laughs, because they’re getting acclimated. 

Different day, same shit goes the saying.  Not a saying I’m fond of, because every different day is an opportunity.  But it’s a saying for reason.  Another medical call recently, with the same outcome.  Person needs help.  We help with a smile, and throw our boots in a hose tray for the ride home.  Learning, I wait until the morning to clean them.  And then that leaves a ice slick on the frozen pavement, so I gotta go get some ice melt.  This leaning stuff never ends.  

Having learned long ago, we’re on the ride home and the sun is setting over a newly freezing Lake Wisconsin.  It’s all a big ol’ celestial pinball machine and it’s offering up a moment of beauty.  Snap a picture.

Jason Isbell once claimed there’s just two kinds of men in this world.  I’m not so sure myself, but there is darn sure a continuum.  You can be sitting in the back of a fire engine in your socks, aggravated you have to clean dog shit off your boots when you get back to the station.  Or you can enjoy the ride, and find beauty in what the celestial or terrestial pinball machines offer up. 

Show up.  Enjoy the ride.  Think I'll make that a sticker.