Rambling thoughts of Firefighters/Paramedics

Many people have made comments over the years about how they could never do the jobs we do at the Fire Station. We've even been told we are a "crazy breed" of people. I suppose this is true. You HAVE to be nuts sometimes to run into a burning building that is filled with such thick black smoke that you can't see but you have to check for possible victims, and all the while you must keep your wits about you so you'll remember how to get back out safely. Many times it is like looking for a needle in a haystack but in this case you have fire nipping at your butt while you're trying to do so. Yep. I can honestly say we probably ARE that "crazy breed" of people. Still, there isn't a single one of us who would ever trade our jobs for anything else. This is our life. And these are reflections from the past years. These aren't just MY thoughts but rather thoughts and emotions from all of us.

I fight fires, I climb ladders, I have rappelled down the side of a building, I have fallen through the roof of a building. I have ignored direct orders to attack a fire in a certain part of a house when my intuitions got the best of me and I have pulled my men out just before the roof collapsed.

I have been stuck with needles and been made to wait anxiously for the HIV test to come back. I have thanked God the tests all came back negative.

I have been bitten by a dog trying to protect his owner when we were treating a patient diagnosed with a heart attack.

I have spent Christmas and most every major holiday at the Firehouse. I have gone without meals many times because we were called out of the Station. There are just as many times I never got to finish a meal for the same reasons.

I have played jokes on my fellow Firefighters and Paramedics and have been the victim of their pranks. We are still trying to outdo each other even after all these years.

I have held a small child, a burn victim, in my arms and had her skin stick to my shirt when I went to lay her down to treat her burns. I have seen a child burned twice within 3 years and watched the Father be arrested for attempted murder (he got away with it the first time for unknown reasons).

I have pretty much driven on the sidewalks in San Francisco when cars refused to pull over for us even with lights and sirens on. The men in the Firehouse swear they will sue me for hip dysplasia one day since they always think I am going to hit a car or pedestrian so they lean to the side with their right leg crossed over the other one "just in case" I do.

I have had women honk their horns at us trying to show off. They would speed up and drive along side of us only to see a female Firefighter behind the wheel. Then they would act all upset. One day I will make a sign to hold up that reads, "Disappointed?"

I have performed CPR, I have intubated people, I have stabilized compound fractures. I have delivered babies of women who did not want to go to the hospital because they couldn't afford the costs. I have seen the tragic outcomes of women who had no prenatal care for the same reasons of no money.

I have had a fellow Firefighter crack under pressure after a few years and when he was admitted for psychiatric evaluation, he was found dead. He had hung himself.

I have listened to the cries and screams of young children as they watch their parents being loaded into ambulances. I have held their hands, tried to comfort them.

I have treated the homeless and poor in San Francisco. I know many of them by name. I know which streets they tend to hang around on. We often do "checks" on them when we haven't seen them for awhile.

I have found myself in a fit of giggles (for many VALID reasons, at least in my own opinion) while trying to treat a patient who was a known hypochondriac and I couldn't believe the new "problem" she had this time. As much as I tried, I could not control myself. It has something to do with peeing in her bed and being naked and saying she couldn't complete her tax returns. Possibly if she got DRESSED and didn't pee in bed she could????

We have been caught in the cross-fire while treating a gang member for a stabbing and the rival gang decided they didn't want the boy live, let alone be treated for his wounds.

I have climbed up an aerial ladder and half way up lost my footing, only to fall to the ground after taking down the two others who were on the ladder just below me. I have cursed as to why I ended up at the bottom of the pile with the other two on top of me when I was at the TOP to begin with.

I have had to lift a 450 pound man into an ambulance. I have been punched and/or kicked by patients who were whacked out on Crystal Meth. I have done CPR and had patients vomit while breathing into their mouths. Thank god for one-way valve resuscitation masks!

I put out house fires, car fires, trash fires. I rescue people from burning houses and buildings. I rescue people in the ocean, in swimming pools and over the embankments of freeways.

I risk my life for the drunk drivers who drive over the cliff on a dark road. I have seen what damage they have done to property and human life in their inebriated state. I have wrestled with the emotions of why they should be treated for their injuries when the victims of their drinking and driving are dead on the side of the road.

I have saved patients and lost patients. I have been chewed out by doctors in the ER who thought I took too long to get a critically injured patient to the hospital. They had no idea the patient had to be extricated from underneath a tanker truck and the patient was confined to the space of a sardine can!

I care about my patients. I listen to them. I talk to them. I do all I can for them. When I have terminally ill patients who have their DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) orders in place and they tell me they want to die, I have to grant their wishes despite the fact I want to help them stay alive. I can only calm them and hold their hand. I cannot do anything else.

I take blood pressures, I read EKG's, I stop profuse bleeding, I administer life-saving drugs. I splint and patch and bandage what I need to to get our patients to the hospital.

I laugh with the men in the Station over funny things that have happened on one of our calls out. I cry when the emotions of losing a patient become too much. I pray a lot. My heart skips a beat when I call the ER to see if the critically injured patient we brought in earlier is still alive.

We wear 60+ pounds of bunker gear and equipment when we go to a fire. We work in the intense heat. We also work in the cold. We get calls in the middle of the night. We don't have the option to push the snooze button when the alarm goes off in the Firehouse. We have to be ready at all times.

I teach Paramedic and Firefighting classes. I train constantly. I am required to take classes to keep myself up-to-date in the Medical and Fire industries. I strive to do my best at all times.

I panic when I can't get through an intersection because cars either can't hear or see the sirens and lights or because they just don't know what to do. I know I have to get somewhere and somewhere fast. I sometimes get angry at these people. When I finally blow the horn to get their attention to move out of the way, they usually move. And I am constantly amazed at the ones who have the nerve to flip us off for disturbing them!

Often at the end of a difficult shift, when I finally get to go home, all I want is a hug from family or friends. I don't want to recount my shift to them. I just want a comforting hug. And when I am home, I feel guilty for not being at the Firehouse.... to watch over the other Firefighters and Paramedics when they are working. All I can do is say a prayer to keep them safe.

Like I have said before, we wouldn't give up our jobs for anything in the world. It's in our blood. It runs through our heart and soul. It truly IS the toughest job we could ever love.

OOOPS, my bad!

For some reason I had a difficult time in Paramedic school. One would think the Fire Academy was hard but it was the opposite for me. I had trouble at first in Paramedic classes.

First of all, I was shy and self-conscious. And the classrooms were so very quiet during lectures. This was not good when my stomach had the habit to make god-awful noises at the most inappropriate times. And it happened a lot. I remember from grammar school to high school, I would get into so much trouble because I would get the giggles over any noise in those quiet classrooms. Mostly is was ME but Heaven forbid when it was someone else!!!

I thought I outgrew bursting into fits of laughter.... and over "nothing" really. But I didn't. Somehow I managed to get through it all. But not without the consequences.

On this particular day, we were training in CPR and ALS (Advanced Life Support). We were learning to use the defibrillator. This machine has always intrigued me. Our patient was a manikin. He/she was "dead" already. At least I could do no harm if I messed up. Right?

Our Instructor was going over the last details before letting us practice on the manikin. I watched as each the students before me used the defibrillator on their "patient." I cringed each time I heard the zap of the machine. Then it was my turn. I positioned the paddles with precise accuracy over my patient's chest.

"Clear!" I yelled. I guess I got a bit carried away in my nervousness and didn't see the Instructor's hand on the chest of my patient. He was jolted with a defibrillation energy level of 200 J. (Thank god it only got him in one finger!)

"Oooops, my bad!" I said as he flung his hand back out of the way with a look on his face that told me he had no idea where the heck he was at the moment. Uh oh. The whole class was stunned at first and no one dared to laugh. At least not at that moment. Our Instructor was still alive. See??? That machine DID work! (I tried desperately to convince myself of this!)

Out of the classroom, I got such a ribbing from all my classmates. I was never able to live down that incident. My birthday cake later that month was in the shape of defibrillator paddles.

I suppose I passed that class just so the Instructor wouldn't have me there as his student again.

:-)

He is still alive today.

Thanks to ME??? One will never know.....

What did you say?

I am Sheena's partner in the Firehouse. We have worked together for quite a few years now. When you work so closely with someone, you get to know them quite well. For as long as I have known her, whenever she doesn't understand what someone is saying or isn't quite sure she heard them correctly, she will turn her head to the side and just stare at them. When she does this with Captain Harold, he will scowl at her. It drives him NUTS when she turns her head sideways like that.

One of the guys here in the Station came across a photo and added names to it. He then made an enlargement of it and hung it in the Firehouse.




Amazingly enough.... the expressions on the faces in the photo look EXACTLY like Sheena and Captain Harold during one of those "moments."

Revenge

Ok, I will admit I find farting really funny at times.... especially when those times are "unpredictable" or in public, and especially when they shock the very person who MAKES the fart!

One case in mind that makes me laugh every time is the woman on the Canadian Idol show. She was tooooooo funny and really comical about the whole thing.

You can watch her here:




I showed this video to the guys at the Firehouse. All day long some of the men walked past my office, stopped and said, "I totally just farted!" Some of them even brought "sound effects" with them.

After an entire day of this..... I decided to get my revenge. I planned my strategy all afternoon and knew it HAD to have something to do with SMELL.

That evening I finished dinner first. I cleared my plates and loaded them in the dishwasher and went to brush my teeth. I had taken a syringe out of my medical bag earlier and drew up some juice from a bottle of Schilling's garlic juice. Now I don't know if anyone out there has ever used this stuff but it is potent beyond belief! A little drop goes a long way in recipes. And now, also in toothpaste! :-)

I injected some of the tubes of toothpaste with this garlic juice. I only tampered with the toothpaste tubes owned by the ones who came past my office and truly made the sound effects. I then disposed of all evidence and went to the living room to watch TV. They were still eating and having coffee at this time.

The worst part about playing a joke on someone is the "waiting." Time seems to go by so slow. Sometimes it is almost unbearable.

It was about an hour later when a few of them went to brush their teeth. I could hear someone blame one of the other guys for the joke. And that guy blamed another and another and another. Gosh, I did better than I thought! No one was blaming ME! This was my good fortune! I must have timed it all correctly!

So I thought.

A call came in. Hit and run. I hate those calls. How could anyone drive away from the scene?

We arrive. It was a young woman who had been riding her bike. We assessed her condition and while the guys and I were leaning over her taking care of her injuries, that strong SMELL of garlic burned my nose. The woman kept looking at me. She actually asked everyone to "back up because she couldn't breathe". I darn near laughed my head off but had to control myself. She was released from the scene and seemed all too happy just to get some fresh air.

On the ride back to the Station, they guys kept accusing each other of the prank. That smell lasted for another 12 hours. They threw away the toothpaste, brushed with new toothpaste, used mouthwash, took antacids, drank milk, but nothing worked. Those who got off work before those 12 hours didn't dare go near their wives or girlfriends.

Ahhh.... the power of revenge!

Don't cramp my style

 A "Delta" call came in one afternoon. There are four levels of calls we get. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta. Alpha being a non-emergency (smoke alarms going off, illegal BBQ's, etc.) and Delta (heart attacks, respiratory distress, etc.) being an all-out emergency that requires lights and sirens to get to the scene as fast as possible.

Our Delta was for a man who had been injured...... "Unknown Injury" dispatch tells us. We have no idea what we are dealing with. As we race through the streets of San Francisco, we keep in contact with dispatch for updates. There are none. We arrive at the scene and the PD isn't there yet. The police usually arrive first to secure a scene but not this time.

We see the injured man. He is sitting against a wall, bleeding from his leg. Right off the bat we can tell its a stab wound. I am wondering where the heck the SFPD is. They should have been here. Someone stabbed this man and we don't know where the assailant is. I am feeling a bit uneasy but forget this since the man needs medical attention and quickly.

My partner, Rick, asks the man, "What happened here?" to which he answers, "I think I got stabbed."

(YA THINK???)

The man is bleeding profusely. Rick starts to cut the man's pant leg open so we can treat the wound. All of a sudden, the man has a seizure. I am thinking there is a chance the man overdosed on something. I am worried about needles as I hold the man down to keep him from injuring himself further as I try to put pressure on the wound.

My Captain and two other Firefighters arrive, along with the PD... finally! The EMT's have arrived also. They prepare the gurney for our patient.

"Check his pockets," I tell Rick. One pocket contained a couple bags of white powder. The other pocket was full of more stuff. Rick pulls out more bags and money and suddenly there is a loud pop. I look at Rick knowing something has hit me like a brick wall in the stomach. The look on Rick's face is total horror.

"He had a gun in his pocket. It went off, " Rick says in a panic. He had no idea at first that I was the one to block that bullet.

"I know. And you are really cramping my style!" I tell Rick as I fall to the ground.

I don't feel pain but I do feel warm blood soak my shirt and pants and there is a hot feeling in my abdomen. My Captain calls for another ambulance. His voice in panicked. People are asking me questions. I cannot answer. I am trying to keep from fainting. I look around and I see my men gathered around. AMR has taken the man with the stab wound to the hospital. I find out later he died from an overdose.

I remember being angry that my shirt had been cut away to expose the gunshot wound. Half naked in public is not how I wanted to be seen! There is a commotion around me and a sense of urgency. Captain Harold is barking out orders. Rick and Darryl are trying to stop the bleeding from my abdomen. Despite my desperate attempt to avoid fainting, I slowly saw the world become dark.

Several hours later, after 4 hours of surgery, I wake up. Ok, now I feel pain and lots of it. My Captain is sitting in a chair with his eyes closed. I watch him for awhile and try to tell him something but can't. There is a tube down my throat. All I can do is grunt. Harold opens his eyes and leans towards me. I am pointing at the tube.

"It has to remain for awhile more, " he says. I try to shake my head no.

He calls the nurse. "I have a feeling that if you don't remove the tube, she will do it herself," he tells her. "Can you find out if it can be removed?" She leaves the room to get an order for its removal. Heck, I can do it myself! All I can do is stare at my Captain. He is telling me about the gunshot (like I had forgotten???). He also tells me about the surgery and what was involved. I come to know that half of my stomach was removed due to the extensive injury. The bullet missed all the other major organs. He tells me there is mesh wiring all throughout my abdomen to hold it all together. As he is telling me this, for some reason I am thinking to "chicken coops" and I don't know why.

The tube is removed but I still can't talk. My throat is sore. The nurse puts pain medicine in my IV and I fall asleep again.

I don't know for how long I was asleep but Harold is still there although he isn't in uniform now. I suppose he went home to shower and change. His face is worn. For a man of nearly 55, he is still a handsome man. His wife died a few years ago. Harold never dated after her death. I doubt he ever will although there are a lot of women who are attracted to him. We always tell him to "go out into the world" and live it up. He's been alone too long. But he is content with his life.

He smiles and asks how I am doing. I hate hospitals. I am a bad patient. "Can I go home now?" I ask him.

"What? You just had major surgery!" he says.

"So? Can I go home now?"

He shakes his head. "You'll be here for a week at least."

Ok, now I am upset.

"Rick wants to see you," Harold says. "He isn't taking this whole thing very well. You want to see him?"

Why wouldn't I? He is my partner. I tell Harold to let Rick in. Since I am in the Intensive Care Unit, they allow only one visitor at a time. Harold leaves and Rick walks in. He looks at me, then around the room seeing all the machines and tubes and drips. He has this look on his face that makes me so sad. He is truly upset. He tries to tell me something but chokes on his words. I am feeling really sorry for him.

"Its ok," I tell him. "It was an accident." (I was later told that the gun was loaded and cocked in that man's pocket. When Rick pulled out the bags of heroin, one of the bags pulled on the trigger and discharged the gun).

Rick pulls up the chair next to the bed and scoots in close. He puts his head down on the side of the bed and holds my hand. He breaks down in tears and sobs. His anguish tears my heart apart. He keeps repeating how sorry he is. I told him it wasn't his fault. He continues to sob until he is too tired to cry anymore. We talk for awhile. He asks what he can do for me.

"Get me out of here," I tell him.

He thinks I am kidding but I am serious. He has no plans to help me escape.

I spent two weeks in the hospital recovering. I thought Harold said it would only be a week? Rick went into counseling to "get over" his feelings of guilt. I never blamed him for what happened. It was truly just an unfortunate accident. I returned to work after I got my strength back.

Several months later, Rick and I were at the scene of a motorcycle accident. Our patient was a 37 year old biker who hit the center divide on the freeway. He had a compound fracture in his leg where the bone was protruding through the skin. The man was wearing leather pants and Rick was cutting away the man's pant leg to expose the fracture.

I'm not quite sure what happened but the next thing I know.... Rick's knife slipped and cut my neck. He missed my jugular vein by a fraction.

I'm having a bit of deja vu at this time.

Bleeding is controlled, I get to ride in the ambulance once again (as a patient) and a few stitches later, I am fine again.

I'm beginning to think Rick is either out to get me or I am very accident prone.

;-)

Cold versus Hot

Firefighters wear about 60 pounds of bunker gear and equipment when they go to a fire. With the intense heat of the fire and the "workout" we get while running up and down stairs or manning a high pressure hose, our body temperatures tend to go up a bit. We sweat a lot in those bunker clothes. They were not designed to "breathe" but rather to protect us from fire, heat and other elements.

I am so used to feeling "overheated" that when I am not wearing those clothes and equipment, I often feel cold.

I had the day off from work and decided to go to one of my favorite Asian markets in my home town. As I walked into the store I was met a blast of cold air. I wish I had brought my sweater. My goodness, that store was freezing!

I met Chung. He is the manager of the meat department. I've known him for about 15 years. I was shivering.

""Why am I always so cold?" I asked him, trying to make excuses for my chattering teeth as he stood there in a short sleeved shirt.

"You no at work," he explains. "There you in heat all the time."

I have to admit, I have never thought of myself "in heat" ... especially at work.

:-)))

Stand Behind Me

I will be the first to say that I would stand behind any of my men at any moment, under any circumstance. They are my brothers. We look out for each other. We work so closely together that we know each other's "moves" and can even predict those moves in a building when we are blinded by smoke and flames. We depend on each other for our lives. It is how it is in the Firehouse.

And yet, there is ONE time I refuse to stand behind ANY of them. You never know when those moments are. They can sneak up on you like a fast moving storm. You always have to be on your guard so you aren't caught in that trap. And they plan it so well.

It is my reason for swearing to myself that I will ALWAYS remain one step ahead of them just so not to be caught in one of those "moments." I ended up buying a shirt off Ebay that "says it all." That shirt is on the bulletin board in our main hall as a constant reminder of who they are and who I refuse to be.

;-)

No other words are needed to explain. The photo says it all.

"Gas Investigation"

The first time I heard a call come in for a "gas investigation" my heart skipped a beat. The thought of explosions from gas leaks always striked fear in me. Most calls for gas investigations are just that.

We go to the scene.
Investigate.
Yes there is a small gas leak (or not).
Scene is secured.
Gas company arrives to take care of the matter.

But over the years and having spent so much time in the Firehouse, the term "gas investigation" has taken on a whole new meaning. Our evening meals have been "modified" to prevent those night time emissions.

Still, every once in awhile, that call will come in. And all I can do is point to the culprit who kept me awake most of the night. :-)))

Grocery shopping

Today is grocery shopping day. Ok, EVERY day is a grocery shopping day and as usual, I am not looking forward to it very much. This is because 4 of us go into the store...... but it is only ME who does the shopping.

We make so many return trips to the store to get what someone "forgot" because these guys have no concept of a shopping list. Today Rick and I are taking two of our newest rookies with us. We were about to enter the store when I asked them, "SO, what do we need?"

And someone answers, "FOOD."

(Thank you for that insight!)

"What KIND of food?" I ask. (We seriously need a shopping list!)

"EDIBLE" is the answer I get back.

(Geez, is there aspirin on that absent grocery list???)

It has always been hard for me to grocery shop with a man, let alone 6 right now. We always seem to have different tastes in foods. Whereas I would prefer whole grain breads and milk, they are happier with jalapeno bread and beer. Thank God they don't drink... we'll save on the beer!

So here "we" are...... to do the grocery shopping....... for EDIBLE things...... things humans eat. Or at least what most normal humans eat.

I glance at the guys as I am picking out things we need. A few girls have swarmed around them and are trying their hand at flirting. Rookies are always flattered. But these two don't see that the girls are from the school across the street. I can only stand this so long. No, I am not "jealous." I am just desperate to get the ice cream back to the Station before it melts.

I interrupt my partner, Rick. "Can we go now?" I ask.

He looks at the girl who seems annoyed. My goodness, if looks could kill....

"Is that your girlfriend?" she asks. (Only a kid would ask such a thing!)

Rick replies, "Nooooooooooo way! She is my partner!" (That doesn't sound good)

"She's been my partner for years." (That sounds worse)

The girl looks ticked.

"She is my boss!" (Better, but I hate being referred to as someone's "boss")

The girl seems satisfied with the answer/explanation.

Next thing I know... she suddenly has admiration for me. I don't know what they have told her.

"You are SO brave and lucky to work with these guys!" she says.

I look at this clueless girl, roll my eyes........ take a deep breath....

(Brave. Yeah right. I am laughing to myself. I'm just a survivor).

I load the groceries onto the belt, they are rung up, bagged and put into the cart. I am heading for my squad. "WE" didn't go shopping; "I" did. I swear I am not unloading these groceries when we get back to the station.

I will count to 10. If they aren't on board, they can WALK back to the Station!

By the way, one of them had to go back to the store. They didn't get their jalapeno bread. I wonder why??? ;-)

April Fool's Day is 365 days a year

Believe me. When you put 16 men together in one Firehouse, you just can't help playing jokes all the time on them. Of course, you have to be prepared to have jokes played back at you. I am prepared. Always.

Our Firehouse has two sleeping quarters. They are across the hall from each other. Both sleeping quarters have doors but they are never closed in case we need to run out on a call half asleep in the middle of the night.

This gives me an idea. I examine those doors and realize both of them open INWARD. (Guess whoever put the doors on knew all too well the bumps on the head one would get whenever someone opened those doors into the hallway!) So they open inward. This is good. Mind you, the doors are always open for "practical reasons." Well, I don't feel like being practical. Evil is more like it. ;-) After all, in just a few hours it will be April 1st. I can't just let it pass me by now, CAN I ???? (Ok, ok, don't judge me just yet!)

I make plans, I readjust the plans. This goes on for a couple hours. What I have in mind has to be JUST RIGHT or the whole thing will be ruined. I finally get to the point where I am confident I can pull this joke off..... and single handedly against all those men who claim to "look out for my butt in dangerous situations." (I might be dead after this joke so please keep their sentiments for me in mind! I'll need them as backup later!)

Everyone has retired for the night, hoping to sleep the whole night through without any calls. We were quite busy during the day so we are kind of bushed. I lie awake listening..... for those "sounds" that eventually come which tell me they are sound asleep... ok, and for the snoring too. This is my key that I can get up and do what I have to do.

I leave the sleeping quarters I am in and close the door. I close the door of the other room right across the hall. I then tie a rope from one doorknob to the other; carefully leaving about 2 inches of slack in the rope. I walk to the dispatch room. Captain Harold is in the dispatch room drinking coffee and watching TV with one of the operators.

"Whatcha doing up?" he asks. (It is 3 am)

"Couldn't sleep," I tell him. He looks at me and studies my face. I pretend to watch the TV.

"What are you up to?" he asks.

"Nothing. Just couldn't sleep."

This is my Captain. He knows me better than anyone else. (I hate this fact).

"What did you do?" he insists.

"Nothing."

"I know you better than this. You have this 'Gonna-get-you-good!' look on your face. What are you planning?"

"Nothing."

"I'll bet you 25 bucks it doesn't work!" he says.

"Make it a hundred," I tell him.

I ask Chester (our dispatch guy) to hit the fire alarms in two minutes. These are like the fire alarms that go off in schools for the fire drills.

Captain Harold and I walk to our observatory positions. We wait. Then the fire alarms go off.

THUD! (I suppose this is the first person in line in the room on the left trying to go out the door that is surprisingly shut)

THUD! (Ditto for the room on the right)

And then the fun begins. I see the lights under the doors go on. People in the sleeping quarters on the left try to open the door at the same time the ones on the right try to open THEIR door. Since there is only two inches of rope slack, it turns into a tug-o'-war.

It doesn't take much to humor me. I am laughing so hard. Those guys are barely awake and can't figure out what is going on. I look at my Captain.......

He is counting out a hundred dollars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They should all be glad I didn't repeat my joke from 2 years ago when I put "Itching powder" in all their clothes. Ok, mostly their underclothes. Watching them all standing there in public (we were on a call in the city) scratching themselves was a sight to behold! And to see it on the evening news was even better!

It wasn't even April 1st that day! You can always expect the unexpected here. And remember... I am always one step ahead of you men! :-)))

San Francisco's Melting Pot

San Francisco is definitely a melting pot of people. Every imaginable ethnic group lives here. We have straight people, gay people; big people, little people; men who dress like women, women who dress like men; people with normal hair and bright colored hair; people with tattoos and piercings and just about anything else you can think of. Needless to say, San Francisco is a wonderful place to be. There is no other place like it in the world!

There is a transvestite near Pier 39 who always draws a crowd. He dresses in an outrageous pink long glamor dress with feathers and boas (the kind of dress you would see on a Las Vegas stage). The heels alone that he wears are a sight to be seen! He lays a pink fuzzy rug out on the bench and sprawls out. Madame Pink is in all her glory now, smiling and waving. She calls all of us "honey" or "sweetie." Always polite and always nice, she is a pleasure to stop by and chat with.

A few years ago, we met this man (also near to Pier 39) who was on the streets holding up a sign advertising his need for money. We have many homeless people in San Francisco. But something about this man caught our attention...... and funny bones. First of all, he was not the typical homeless person. He was dressed "down" but his clothes were clean. His fingernails were a bit dirty but they seemed to be stained from the nicotine. He didn't smell. Although he smoked a cigarette he was careful to keep the smoke out of the way of anyone it bothered. He had real manners for a homeless guy. What caught our attention was the sign he carried and the fact he never actually ASKED anyone for money. If they gave it, he was grateful, if not, he didn't mind.

When I first read his sign, I wasn't "thinking" (as usual). I thought he was collecting money for a "good cause." When I reread his sign, I found my heart melt. Here was this man, obviously homeless who actually had a great sense of humor! We talked to him for awhile. He seemed to be educated. He was really nice. I told him I'd give him money towards his "good cause" if he let me take a photo so I could put it up in our Fire Station. He agreed. I took only one photo and it came out perfect. He has been on our bulletin board ever since.
We have tried to look for him several times in the past to no avail. We would love to see how he is doing today. One day we hope to find him again. He really did have a big impact on our lives.... through a sign that showed humor even through difficult times.

People in San Francisco are so diverse. You never know what to expect. But your heart goes out to each and every one of them. Often you only see them once and spend the next few years wondering about them and looking at all the faces you meet just to see if just by chance one of them will be that one person who burned a memory in your heart and soul. Often you never see them again. But there are those wonderful moments when you do and you try so hard to contain your relief and happiness. It is a strange feeling.... but one most Firefighters and Paramedics experience often in San Francisco. San Francisco........ our melting pot........ the place that melts our hearts all the time.

The truth has two sides.

The jokes and the teasing of new rookies is a must in every Firehouse. It is a Rite of Passage. We all go through it and then we learn to outdo the jokes that were played on us as rookies.

I have watched young rookies trying to find out what smelled so bad no matter where they went in the Firehouse. They would ask if anyone else smelled the stench. Of course, we'd all deny that we did. Little did they know they were walking around with stink bomb liquid in their shoes.

I once played a joke on one of our rookies but it backfired on me. I had placed a bar of soap in the bathroom. This was the kind of soap that turned your hands black although the soap was white. I waited impatiently for my rookie to come and wash his hands after working on one of the rigs.

I heard the bathroom door close and jumped up to wait for the fun to happen when he emerged. I was standing there trying to quell the giggles. To my horror, out of the bathroom emerges my Captain, who obviously had just washed his face! I can imagine how my face looked at that moment.

"You ok?" he asks.

Honestly, all I could say was, "No, not now."

I headed for the apparatus bay hoping desperately for a call to come in before I got "caught" and in trouble. Time seemed to edge by slowly..... too slowly.

Then I heard the laughter. I thought things were ok. I tried to calm down. And then it came...

"SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEENAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

I cursed the rookie who was supposed to be in the bathroom with that soap.

Nick comes to me and says, "Cap wants a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?" I ask.

"For what?" he asks innocently.

Maybe it wasn't that bad after all.

Wrong.

I walked into the kitchen where my Captain was getting some coffee. He turned around and the black on his face had darkened considerably from the time I first saw him emerging from the bathroom.

Captain Harold started to scold me but the alarms rang. He hesitated at first. I mean, did he REALLY want to go out in public looking like that? Oh well, maybe they will think he came from another fire or something.

The call was uneventful and although some of the other Firefighters and Paramedics snickered at the sight of Harold, my Captain never did scold or reprimand me. I wish he had though because silence is worse than anything else. You never know when the tables will be turned on you. I am still waiting.

The guys decided to play a joke on our new rookie, Cody. While Cody was in the shower, the guys took his clothes from the shower room.

"Now THAT is a unique joke!" I commented to myself. Taking the clothes of someone showering is an old and classic joke. One just hopes they left the towel so they'd have something to cover up in while searching out the culprit of this "It's -not-funny" kind of joke.

Cody's clothes were returned. (I am in my office watching the men trek back and forth to the shower room).

"Chickens!" I am thinking.

About 10 minutes later I hear Cody curse and growl. Funny how one who never cursed before in his life learns to do so in the Firehouse!

Cody stomps into my office. "Did YOU do that?" he demands, face flushed. I am wondering what he means by "that".

"Do what?" I ask.

"Put the glue in my briefs?"

("No way! They didn't!" I am thinking. Ok, so I am probably the Master of playing jokes and pulling pranks here in the Firehouse but I HAVE to be. I am up against 16 men each and every day. I have to hold my OWN, don't I? But I would NEVER put glue in someone's briefs! Or WOULD I???)

I told Cody I didn't do anything to his briefs. God, I must be the only woman on earth who would have said this to him! Mind you, he is 28, gorgeous, tanned and really built nicely. But he IS my rookie after all and I don't allow myself to think "that way".

I am wondering what kind of glue the guys used. It might come in handy next time I play a joke ;)

Cody stomps off to find the others. Actually, he was walking kind of funny. He walks into the recreation room. The laughter is like a bunch of kindergarten kids on the playground. Cody swears to get them back. They try to blame it on me but since I wasn't laughing (yet), I was presumed innocent. (This "keeping a straight face" has saved my butt on many occasions).

Seems Cody's briefs were lined with double-sided tape in the most inappropriate place and since Cody thought it was glue...... or better yet, superglue, he was afraid to take them off for fear of removing more than just the underwear. He was assured he would remain intact and Cody left to disengage himself from his briefs.

I can tell you now... those men are in big trouble. Sometimes new rookies can get back at you in ways you never imagined!

There are always two sides to the truth. Always.

"You can let me go now."

It was a beautiful Spring afternoon. Our day had been uneventful and I was happy for this for two reasons. One... no one was needing us for an emergency or fire and, two... I had so much work to get done.

But then the call came in. From the alarms I could tell it was pretty serious. A car accident. We gathered our equipment and raced to the scene with lights and sirens. I can still remember the first thing I thought when I saw the scene. "Unbelievable!" Even before I could get out of my squad, two police officers were escorting us quite quickly to the car. I couldn't believe what I saw, even at that close proximity. There in front of me was a convertible car... a beautiful red one... and in front of it some yards away there was a big rig. Between the truck and the convertible lay a dozen or so steel pipes. Several of those pipes were inside the convertible.

Quickly assessing the situation, we realized we had two patients. A man and woman. The woman was unconscious with obvious head and chest injuries. The man was conscious and alert but becoming hysterical. He had one of those steel pipes impaled in his chest.

I came to learn that they were husband and wife. They had just been married and they were on their way to the reception. But as fate would have it, the steel pipes from the big rig in front of them on the freeway came loose and crashed onto and into their car, injuring the woman badly and impaling the man through the chest.

I had never been in this situation before. Choosing one life over another. It was breaking my heart. The woman was in critical condition. We explained this to the husband. He begged us to take his wife quickly to the hospital. The man's condition was even more critical even though he was conscious. We couldn't remove the steel pipe from his chest without a tampanade ocurring. Right now he was being kept alive BECAUSE of that pipe. It was preventing him from bleeding out. But once the pipe was removed, he would bleed out in a matter of seconds and die immediately. How do you tell someone this? How do you explain to him that he will never see his wife again and that he would die? There was no doubt about it. There was nothing we could do.

Thank goodness he wasn't in pain. He just felt "pressure." We told him what was happening and what would happen. We encouraged him to say goodbye to his wife before the ambulance took her to the hospital. He was calm. He held her hand and talked so sweetly to her even though she was unconscious. He kissed her gently and told us to hurry and take her to the hospital and asked the Paramedics to please tell the doctors to save her life.

And then she was gone and he was alone. I crawled further into the car to sit with the man. I asked him if he wanted his family to be alerted and he said no. He didn't want them to come there and be traumatized by the scene. I understood. He was Catholic and allowed a Priest to come and give him the Last Rites.

The man talked about the first time he met his wife, how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. His voice was weakening. I had been sitting there in the car with him for an hour or so. He would close his eyes for a few moments every so often. He seemed calm despite the situation he was in. My heart was breaking for the loss of this young man. And for his wife when she would wake up and realize he was gone and she was all alone.

I couldn't cry at that moment. It wouldn't be professional. I looked at him and he said, "You can let me go now." But I didn't want to "let go." I wasn't ready. I didn't think I'd EVER be ready. I encouraged him to call his family and talk to them. I gave him my phone. At first he didn't want to. He said he didn't know what to tell them. I told him to just tell them he loved them. "Let them know you were thinking of them," I said.

So he made a few phone calls. I tried to block out his conversations. I tried to not cry. I took his vitals. He was getting weaker. I tried to think of "other" things while he talked so I wouldn't hurt inside so much. But I realized that this man must be hurting emotionally so deeply inside. I mean, he was just married and now he would never live that life. He would never have children or see his wife or family or friends ever again. And here in front of me was this calm man who wasn't afraid. I was truly humbled. I have always been afraid of death. But this man gave me the courage to face it head on in the future and accept what is beyond our own control.

He handed the phone back to me. "You can let me go now," he said again. I called my Captain to come nearby. I told him the man was ready to be freed of this metal pipe. He knew that the moment the pipe was removed, he would die. He just wanted it removed. My Captain motioned to other Firefighters and Police that were standing around. Everyone gathered around the car to pray for this man.

I was so scared. The man wasn't. I wanted to cry. The man didn't shed a tear.

I was holding the hand of this man as the pipe was removed. My free hand placed gauze pads over the wound as it spewed blood.

"Thank you for staying with me," were his last words.

I felt like crap.

His wife did survive. The funeral for her husband was postponed a bit so she could attend. After the ceremony she came up to me and gave me a hug. She had asked who tried to save her husband so she knew who I was. She thanked me and hugged me for the longest time. I felt like she was trying to "feel close" to her husband by holding close the last thing that was near to him at the time of his death.

I don't think I ever cried so much as that day. I can't think of that day without becoming emotional. I don't think I will ever be the same again.

I'm not afraid of death anymore.

REAL MEN DON'T EAT QUICHE

It is MY day to cook dinner in the Station. Finally! I really love to cook and since we take turns cooking, I always have to wait my turn.

We had just finished up on a non-emergency call in the city. I called in to Dispatch to let them know we would not be available for about an hour. Another Station would cover us in the meantime. We drove to Fishermen's Wharf. I wanted to make Cioppino (Italian fish soup) for dinner and I needed some fish and shellfish.

"Ciao Giuseppe!" I greet the owner of the fish market.

I tell him the 2 kinds of fish I need and how much. I proceed to order the shellfish... mussels, scallops, crab, squid....... no, never mind the squid..... that is gross....... ok, octopus........ nope, sorry........ can't eat anything with more legs than me.......... ok, how about OYSTERS? I love smoked oysters.

"What KIND of oysters?" Giuseppe asks.

I didn't know there were different KINDS of oysters. And they don't have SMOKED oysters. But an oyster is an oyster, NO???

"What KIND?" he asks again.

"Ok, well, the biggest ones you got," I say.

"Ok, but what KIND?" again he asks.

I look at my partner, Rick. "What the heck does he mean?" I whisper. Rick shrugs his shoulders. He has this strange look on his face.

"Just order MOUNTAIN oysters," he suggests.

Ok. Sounds good. Although for a split second I am wondering how it is possible there are oysters in the mountain....... but I am kind of dumb so I don't question this.

"Giuseppe? Give me three pounds of MOUNTAIN oysters," I say.

(SILENCE)

"Are you SURE?" he asks.

"Yes, I am sure" I tell him.

(LAUGHTER)

"My dear! Are you SURE you want MOUNTAIN oysters???"

(There is even more laughter amongst the crowd at the market).

I am getting agitated now. We have to get back to the Station and I don't know why Giuseppe wants to play games with me right now. He knows we are in a hurry.

(And why the heck is Rick acting really strange right now????)

Giuseppe tells me they don't HAVE Mountain oysters there at the fish market.

Ok, why didn't he tell me this to begin with???

Giuseppe grills me now. What do I think Mountain Oysters are?

Uh........ oysters from the moutains?

It is then that I am told "MOUNTAIN OYSTERS" are the testicles of a bull.

Darn!

I could really strangle Rick! He set me up in this most embarrassing situation with all those people around dying of laughter.


We ended up having something else for dinner that night...

in honor of the book.......

"REAL MEN DON'T EAT QUICHE."


(P.S. We had the quiche because honestly, I was afraid to open the package from the fish market. I wasn't sure what I'd be getting!)

The Handshake

I was in the bathroom...... kind of hiding.... if you want me to be truthful. I did NOT want to meet a certain government official that had come to our Firehouse. I know how my Captain is. He will start bragging about me and make me feel embarrassed. I know he doesn't mean to. I know he is proud of me. I am proud of me too. But I am also proud of all my men. So I am wondering why he can't introduce my men to this government official. Oh, okay....... he already has. I am the last one left. And there I am in the bathroom, not wanting to come out.

"Come on, Sheena! Get out of the bathroom! I have someone for you to meet!" he says through the door.

"I'm busy!" I tell him.

"Well, stop being busy and get out here! You are embarrassing me!"

I care a lot for Captain Harold. I didn't want to embarrass him. He sure has a way of making me feel guilty. Darn!

5 minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom. My god..... they are all standing outside that bathroom door! What's up with THAT???

"Sheena, I'd like you to meet our Mayor."

I shook hands with the Mayor. He is suddenly shocked. He looks at his hand. It is dripping wet. Oh my god....... I forgot to dry my hands afterwards in all my nervousness.

"I'm sorry," I tell the Mayor. "I suppose I should have washed my hands first." (I meant DRY... but by that time, the Mayor had the most disgusted look on his face). I look at my men. They are trying so hard to keep straight faces.

My Captain does his signature gesture of "I can't believe she did/said that!" by slapping his forehead. At least I won't have to endure this meeting again!

;)))

SUPERGLUE

One morning I was getting dressed into my uniform in the Firehouse. It figures..... the alarms would call us to duty.... and the button on my pants would pop off. I grabbed the Superglue from the counter and glued my button back on. It would hold until we got back from this call and I could sew it back on properly.

I forgot about the button over the next three hours that we were out in the field for various, non-emergency calls.

Upon returning to the Station, I had to pee really bad (I didn't get to go BEFORE we went on our calls). It was then that I realized Superglue is great stuff until it GOES WRONG. In the bathroom, I couldn't unbutton my pants. I tried in desperation but was unsuccessful. Seems the Superglue went through all the layers of fabric..... EVEN to my underwear. I was in a terrible predicament.

I called my partner, Rick, to help me. Not only was the button securely attached to my pants.... my pants were securely attached to my underwear.... and my underwear was securely attached to the skin on my belly. Rick tried to pull the fabric away but even HE was unsuccessful.

(I honestly believe you cannot be efficient when you are laughing your head off at something!)

I really had to pee.

I was desperate. I ended up cutting my pants off at the waistband. I swear.... I "wore" that darn button on my stomach for the next few days until I was able to pry it off.

No one will allow me to use Superglue anymore.

:-(((

The Bratwurst Incident

Most of us are good cooks in the Firehouse. The ones who aren't only get to eat. I love to cook. I have learned a lot over the years from watching others and experimenting. We often improvise our meals when the alarms are ringing and calls are coming in. We cook (and eat) around those calls.

It was a warm summer evening and we had a BBQ going. We were cooking bratwurst on the grill for dinner. Bratwurst for 16 men. Not me. I don't like hot dogs or sausages or anything else with that "shape". I microwaved a Veggie Burger for myself that night. All the side dishes were cooked, the salad was made, the bread was on the table. In walks 4 "City Officials" to our Firehouse. At dinnertime, too! Since we were ready to sit down and eat, we couldn't be rude so we invited them to have dinner with us. We would arrange something. We didn't have time to BBQ more bratwursts but I told my Captain we'd manage and I would take care of everything.

I can cook ANYTHING in a microwave. I am good at it. Better than at a BBQ, for sure! (So I thought). Well, everyone is sitting at the table, I open the microwave to bring out the 4 newly cooked bratwursts and to my horror, they didn't quite look like the ones that came from the BBQ. But what could I do? Everyone was waiting to eat.

(Mind you, I am the only woman in our Department of 16 men).

I put a cover on the bratwursts and prayed like heck we had four vegetarians at the table. No such luck. When the pan was uncovered, I jumped up from the table to serve those bratwursts and trying oh so hard not to show any emotion (seriously, I thought I'd die right there!), I placed one of those brat-wanna-be's on 3 of my men's plates and the fourth one on one of the City Official's plate. We said grace and it was time to eat. Everyone was staring at each other. No one said a word. It was dead silent.

(By the way, my Veggie Burger was quite good!)

Everyone picked up their silverware to start eating but no one could take the first bite. Seemed like everyone was waiting for everyone else to start. In my mind I was wondering what was going through their heads and if I were them, what I be thinking? The nuked bratwursts were the center of attention at first.... but the people who was supposed to EAT those brats became even more the center of attention. It was just a nuked bratwurst versus a BBQ'd brat for goodness sake!

Now that I think about it.... I suppose eating those nuked bratwursts were one of the most uncomfortable situations those four men ever had to endure. And with others STARING at them? I mean, it must have become a life-changing moment for them.

I don't think I would have wanted to be a man that night. Not even for a second!




Sometimes "improvising" doesn't work. Neither do guests who show up unexpectedly at dinnertime! ;)

By the way, what IS the proper way to eat a nuked bratwurst?????

Mistaken Identity

San Francisco is a melting pot of people. We have every nationality in our city, ever gender, every non-gender, every anything-you-can-imagine. But what it all boils down to is that they are all human beings that deserve respect and concern.

Two very specific incidents come to my mind. Two I will never forget:

On a very warm summer night, we got a call for a possible heart attack or stroke. The Dispatcher wasn't sure due to the language barrier of the Asian man on the phone. But he was hysterical and we responded to the call with lights and sirens.

Arriving at the apartment building, we realized we had to climb 5 stories. The building was old and there was no elevator. 60 pounds of Bunker clothes, all our equipment (if this was indeed a heart attack, we couldn't waste time running back down to our Squad to retrieve it).... not to mention the heat. All this was not in our favor tonight. By the time we arrived at the fifth floor landing, we we pretty much out of breath. Carrying all that weight is not so easy, believe me!

The man answers the door when we knock. He is truly in a state of distress. Through broken English, he is trying to tell us that "she" (his wife? his daughter? his mother?) is in bad shape. The woman must be in cardiac arrest or in this stifling heat, perhaps suffering a heat stroke.

We are ready to revive this woman. We have all our medical equipment; we are highly trained for this kind of emergency. The man leads us into a bedroom to the patient. We all rush in prepared to do our jobs. We stop in our tracks in the doorway though.

Lying on the bed is a limp and obviously recently dead chicken. We look at each other in disbelief. So this is what I was "trained" to do? Revive a chicken? I don't know if I want to break out in a fit of giggles or be angry at the false 911 call. I refrain from the giggles but can't muster the strength to be angry since I am desperately holding back all my laughter. My Captain tries to tell the man that the bird is dead and we can't do anything to help it. The man is so distraught. He NEEDS his chicken alive. I have to leave the room before I die of laughter. Later I find out the man was planning to serve the bird at a dinner party for his brother's anniversary but the bird was not big enough yet an needed to live longer to get fattened up.

I became a vegetarian that night.


As I was saying... We have many different kinds of people in our city. I thought I knew them all. Perhaps I was wrong on this one particular night. A call from Dispatch for a woman in labor on the street send us scurrying to the scene. One thing we can't tolerate is losing a patient... let alone a baby.

Upon arrival, we find a very pregnant woman lying on the sidewalk writhing in pain. She looks to be a full 9 months pregnant. She is crying and complaining of "the pain." The police move back the crowd that has gathered around us. We drape covers over her. Since she is wearing a dress, it makes it easy for me to exam her. I proceed to examine her. Even I can't believe the words that come out of my mouth.

"We have BALLS here!"

My Captain looks at me in a panic and asks, "She is giving birth to a baby boy???? ALREADY?"

"No," I say. "We have BALLS."

Everyone looks at me strangely.

I know that no matter WHAT I say now..... it won't make sense. But I try. "She is NOT a woman. She is a MAN!"

"WHAT?" my Captain asks loudly. I think he can't hear me so I repeat it even louder (perhaps a bit TOO loud!)..... "This is a MAN!"

My patient was an overweight drag queen. Looked pregnant. Complained of abdominal pain (which we so innocently took as labor pains considering the whole scenario!)

What we had in the end was a man......... (whatever!)........ who had a painful kidney stone and bladder infection.

I stand corrected on this one.... and still trying to stifle the giggles.

:-)))

Thinking outside the Bunker Coat

It isn't that I am dumb... or at least that is what I think. And it isn't that I can't handle myself in stressful situations. What I DON'T like is having "all attention on me" when I am in the public view. I have often turned over the "glory" to one of my men in the Firehouse because I could not deal with the attention the media tried to give me. My partner, Rick, has been a "HERO" more times than I can count (combining his and my own "accomplishments.") I don't feel like I am a hero when I save a life. I just feel happy and grateful that that person will be here tomorrow to enjoy the sunrise. This is my reward.... nothing else.

So it is an ordinary day..... with ordinary things happening. I was trying to forget the previous day that I got an illegal parking ticket for parking on the sidewalk on one of San Francisco's streets. I mean.... the parking situation is BAD there...... most every parking spot is a PREPAID parking place. What was I to do when a 911 call sent me out to the city???? I parked on the sidewalk to avoid blocking traffic. The call was a stroke victim. As we were rushing our patient to the squad..... there it was....... ON THE WINDSHIELD UNDER THE WIPER. A ticket. A ticket for illegal parking on the street. Now..... tell me please! What kind of police officer would TICKET a city Fire Department Rescue Squad??? Well, as far as I was concerned......... a drunk one.... or tired one........ or one who was a stone's throw away from a brain.

That was yesterday. Today I am still trying to ignore it. We get a call for a "domestic violence" incident. The scene is not secure yet so we wait by our Squad waiting to run in and save the day. I live for this.... I long for these moments... my adrenaline is going....... I am waiting.

I get out of my Squad and close the door. I take a step away to start gathering our gear.... "just in case".... and something is holding me back. It seems that the back of my Bunker Coat got caught in the door when I slammed it closed and I was pinned to the Squad. Damn! To top it off, I had locked the keys in the squad.... a bad habit of mine even in my own personal vehicle (but at least I have a "spare" hidden under the bumper!

So there I am...... "attached" to my Squad with no escape. I call out to my partner. He is laughing hysterically. I tell him to shut up and have some respect and all he can say is, "Whatcha gonna do? Come AFTER me???" I hate my partner right now. Really I do. He tells me he will call our Captain. He does, and Captain Harold says he will be there in 20 minutes. I am ready to die of embarrassment. So many people are gathering around the Squad. The lights are still flashing. I can't even get into it to turn them off. I have noticed the "public" loves sirens and red flashing lights. I can relate to them. I get the same "high" even after all these years when I see those lights or hear that wail of the siren. I know.... I am strange. But to me....... so are those people standing around..... and multiplying...... around us.

THIRTY minutes later......... Captain Harold arrives. He looks at me...... assesses the situation....... looks around........ does some strange inspection. I am ready to scream at him to OPEN THE DOOR but I don't want to push my luck. This is not the first time (or last, I suppose) that he will save my butt.

He walks up to me and tells me I don't need him.

"WHAT???" I ask.

"You don't need me."

"Yes I do," I tell him. "I need you to UNLOCK the door!"

He looks at me again and claims I don't need him. I am ready to strangle him.

"YES I DO! UNLOCK THE DOOR!" I (quietly) scream.

"Have you not considered this?" he asks. "You could have UNBUTTONED your Bunker Coat and just walked away from all this!"

Well......... DUH!!!!!!!!!

Animals in the Firehouse

I woke up this morning to find the cat sitting in the corner of the recreation room, facing the wall. He just sat there looking at the wall as though he had been punished.

"Ok, WHO put the cat on TIME-OUT?" I shout.

I ask this because we have a Firefighter here who actually put two fish that were in the tank on time-out. Seems they were those Indian Kissing Fish and they kept kissing and chasing each other all through the tank. HE thought they were fighting. So he threw one of them into a glass bowl to cool off. Go figure.

We are not a normal Firehouse. We don't have a Dalmatian.... the mascot of any normal Fire Station. No, no, no. We have a duck. Yes, a duck. We acquired him against our wishes. Some time ago, we were finishing up at the scene of a fire and lo and behold... sitting there on the back of the rig was a duck. Since there was a nearby park, we figured he got confused in all the confusion and smoke and ended up on our rig. My partner picked up the duck and walked him across the street to the park and left him there.

As we were driving away, that duck flew next to our rig and landed on the top. We pulled over and removed the bird and continued on. That duck caught up with us two more times and both times he was removed. Feeling he got the message, we headed to our Station. Unfortunately, so did that darn duck. He wouldn't leave. He made himself at home in our Station and has been with us ever since. He was named Seguace (meaning "follower").

That duck is not normal. Obviously! He lives in a not-normal Firehouse. He drinks from my coffee cup (I know this because there is always duck slobber in my cup). He is "potty trained" (he quacks to go outside to do his thing). He eats spaghetti. He has a fit if he sees us eat chicken. Like I said, he is not normal. What can I say? Perhaps one day we will have duck for dinner. At least it would be much quieter around here. ;-)

So the cat is not normal and the duck is not normal. Neither are the 16 men who work here.... ok, minus Captain Harold. He is in charge. Wait, he can't be normal if he is still here in charge of all of us. I am second in line. Most would think I am not normal either. Well, this might be true.... but at least I have an excuse: I am blonde. (Good enough excuse as any!)

Thinking outside the box

Seriously, there were days in my life when things were normal. That all changed when I joined the Fire Academy. Things got strange then. I said things I didn't remember.... I couldn't remember what I knew. I literally became an idiot in hours. I thought I knew everything. In reality I knew nothing and yet, years later, the "teachers" of that Academy tell me I taught them a whole lot. They never said what I taught them as a student...... perhaps it was that there was no limit to what God could produce in this world to make others stand in one place with their mouths open in disbelief.


I remember in the Academy, there were 9 of us "wanna-be-Firefighters" who were standing in a 12 foot by 12 foot square box that was marked in white paint on the concrete. We were learning about fire extinguishers and which ones work on various types of fires. I have always been nervous in public. I hate being the center of attention. So there I am, being questioned about the use of fire extinguishers and WHICH one did I think would put out the fire in front of me.... (it was an electrical fire). Unable to think, I panicked and therefore did nothing. (You wouldn't have wanted ME to come to your house to put out a fire during these days........ believe me!)

The more the Instructor shouted for answers, the more nervous I got.

"THINK QUICK! Which extinguisher would you use to put out this fire?"

(No answer from me. I am thinking)

"The house is on fire. What will you do???"

(No answer. I am still thinking. I don't see a house....)

"The house is TOTALLY engulfed in flames! Think OUTSIDE THE BOX! What would you do???"

In my nervousness, I ran "outside the box"....... outside the perimeter of that 12 x 12 foot painted area.... to THINK.... like I was told.

"What the hell are you doing???" the Instructor shouts.

"I am THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX, sir!!!" I shout back.

If this was my job at that time, I am sure I would have been immediately fired. The laughter from my other classmates didn't help me at this time. Nothing could.