Pulling into a fire scene with an assignment to lay
a supply lie and finding the hose bed empty, the line having accidentally laid
during the response. Funny how that never happened when we rode
the back step; oh well.
Watching a hose bed turn into silly string when the
pump operator charges the wrong line—the one not pulled.
Getting ready to drain the drop tank and finding the
drain placed on the uphill side.
Extending the “blue line” with yellow hose and
handing it to a new crew who then asks for the “yellow line” to be charged. The reason I hate color coded lines.
Scanning mobile and portable radios—the important
information always gets cut off. Enough
said.
Pump operators who think “100 pounds is good enough
for everything.”
Did you ever notice the same five guys who always have
to leave for work the minute it’s time to wash the rigs and hose after a run?
The company responding for RIT that calls out with
five and shows up with a driver and four juniors.
The officer, who when in charge of a training night,
waits until everyone arrives and then says “so what do you guys want to do
tonight?”
Fire Police who drive like Jeff Gordon for some
reason assuming it is critical they be the first on scene—in order to direct
traffic.
The citizen who on an annual basis, waits for the
windiest day of the year to burn trash, resulting in a 5 acre brush fire, and
then acts surprised when he gets yelled at.
Looking at the personal vehicles parked during the
inevitable call on the afternoon of the first day of buck season and marveling
that there is more firepower present than that possessed by the entire local
police department. Actually true most any
day for rural departments.
The local cop who on an automatic fire alarm offers
to shoot the lock off the door instead of waiting for the apparatus or key
holder. His offer was turned down.
The guy with more state class patches on his sleeve
than a Sergeant Major has stripes—who won’t go inside.
The guy with the two door subcompact car and a blue
light bar so big it extends feet beyond the sides of the car. So big you wonder if the car will rotate
when the lights are turned on.
The guy who carries three pagers and two portable
radios—all on his belt at the same time. Note:
The three above are often the same guy.
The brush fire in a two acre field with only a
single solitary tree located right in the center—which the brush truck driver
hits while backing up.
You know you’re really in trouble when three pieces
of apparatus, all responding to the same call, reach the same intersection; and
one turns left, one goes straight, and the third turns right.
Last, but certainly not least, (insert favorite personal activity here) with your significant other
is invariably interrupted by the pager.
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