Sockless In Wisconsin
Socks will slow me down, so no socks. I’ll bring them with, but I don’t have time to put them on. Just out of the shower after a day of ropes training, the pager goes off for a vehicle fire on the Interstate. Back to the station.
Engine 33 is spun up as I arrive, red lights flashing and about to head out. They’ll wait a few seconds, but not patiently, so I skip the socks again. Bare feet jump into the boots / pants combo and don’t buckle anything. Grab helmet and jacket and cover the twelve steps from locker to rig in nine. Open door and throw stuff in.
Holy cow, this is one competency-packed rear compartment. Chief 2 Jeremy, Chief 3 Brian and Captain Brandon all packing up (strapping on air packs built into the seats). Chief 1 Cam is up front with Troy at the wheel. The officers were still at the station after the day’s training, so I don’t feel bad about not being first into the rig.
But I do feel bad (for myself) that this noble group gets to watch me wrestle with I’ll say a thousand straps, snaps and buckles as I pants up, hood up, jacket up and pack up while trying to keep the unbuckled seat belt alarm from going off. It's normally a bit of a task, but not even having my suspenders up, much less my jacket on makes it something of a comedic spectacle. Jeremy, Brian and Brandon are all too nice to laugh. Well … at least in my presence, which I appreciate. That I made it onto the first rig out starting from home when everyone else started at the station is its own accomplishment.
On-ramp arrives and I’m mostly ready to go. Jacket still unzipped and air pack waist belt unbuckled. “Mostly” ready will work, because the plan is for the ACs to have nozzle and back-up with me and Cpt Brandon flaking (spreading out) the hose. But I don’t have my fire gloves, and that’s a problem. A problem only obvious to me.
There’s a shelf over the front-facing seats in the rear of Engine 33 handy for tossing stuff off your turnout gear you don’t need for the task at hand, and that’s where my fire gloves are sitting. Problem is, I'm in a rear-facing seat. Earlier in the day we had an interstate accident (without fire) call, so I tossed my fire gloves on the shelf, rather than having them hang off my jacket. The call happened at the start of the ropes class, and I was more focused on getting back to the class when we got back to the station than resetting my gear. We have some well-experienced guys from CMC Rescue in for training, and I need all the knots practice I can get. Which is all … um … an excuse. And excuses don’t work well in fire-fighting.
So, I plan the rig exit carefully. A seamless standup, reach over Chief 2 to the shelf and grab the gloves with my right hand while opening the door with my left. In the tumult of a fire rig exit, nobody will notice. That’s my plan, and it works reasonably well. It works so well that Chief 2 passes me as I’m getting my fire gloves on and he switches the plan on the fly for me to grab the trash line nozzle. A tow truck is on fire. The "trash line" is a preconnected hose accessible from a front bumper compartment. Generally used for dumpster fires, hence the name.
Grab the nozzle. Advance the hose to the truck. Put out the fire. Cool the engine. Spray the mess off the interstate onto the shoulder to clean up. Only use 500 gallons. Pretty simple. Could have done it with my extrication gloves.
Back home and in the second shower of the evening when the pager tones for a motorcycle accident. Who in their right mind would be on a bike in this torrent? Miss that one, but head to the station for the next one, which I miss because everyone on the motorcycle call just recycled onto the next call. Hang around for the next call (which does not come) and to help with wiping down the rigs as they return.
A twelve-hour day at a volunteer fire department. It ends with a double rainbow over the station. One for EMS. And one for fire.
Barring any calls waking us all from sleep, it starts again tomorrow at 7:45 AM.
