It is mid morning on a cold late fall day, I pull my balaclava out of my helmet and over my head, slip on my bulky coat then throw my helmet into the back of the pumper and climb in after it. Two others are already in the back so I get the outside seat, as I start my routine I catch glimpses of the others climbing in to the squad and tanker . Before sitting down I reach over and pull a mask out of the carrier bag, then as I sit down I pull the release cord for the SCBA behind me.
I feel dry mouthed, excited and I wonder for a moment, as I always do, if the others are feeling what I feel on every call, anxiety, fear, excitement, whatever the emotion is I am not sure, but it is there, from day one it has been there, dry mouthed, heart pumping, fast breathing there, no matter what the call, no matter when the call, it is there. In two or three minutes it will be deep down and conquered, but now it is making it’s presence known.
Bracing against the forward movement of the pumper as it pulls out of the station my coat gets hooked together. Then struggle with the straps of the SCBA behind me, clipping the waist strap and cinching it tight, then pulling first the right then the left strap until they are comfortable. Lastly on with the seat belt. My eyes are caught by the momentary reflection of our lights mirrored in the widows of the house in front, I wonder if the people living there see us any more or are we now just part of the surrounding scenery of every day life.
The pumper is out of the subdivision now and pulling on to the highway as I plug the regulator into the mask, bring out my gloves, won’t put on the mask and gloves yet though, no real need, but, I guess I am as ready as I ever will be.
I settle back into the seat as we bull our way down the busy road enjoying the ride, horns and sirens blaring, the sea of cars ahead magically parting to allow us passage. We spend the journey looking in to the cars that we pass, blurry faces looking back, Comments being passed if a driver is particularly pretty and or curvaceous, on our drivers talent, or perceived lack of driving skill, seeing the occasional wave from people. Sometimes we wave back, usually if waved at by kids in a car or on the side of the road. Definitely if the person waving is one of the particularly pretty and or curvaceous drivers commented on, but mostly we are gone before we can respond.
All this for the faint possibility of a fire, Alarm bells sounding, so reads the message on the pager with the address given as the local school, been there before, many times, to the same message, to the same school, waste of time, waste of money and waste of safety, why the hell should we bust or rear ends going there, but we do, if only for the one time we might really be needed. It is only the memory of past calls when we were needed keeps us coming back with the same enthusiasm.
We pull in to the front of the school, as we thought, no angry smoke to greet us, no panic stricken throngs of kids pouring like fast noisy water out of the doors, just the kids, lined up in their classes with cold, bored, envious teachers riding herd.
We swing out of the cab to the half mocking, half serious cheers from the kids, striding up to the door to check the alarm board to see which alarm has been tripped. We have done this countless times before, no doubt we will do it countless times again. I remember the last alarm we turned out for, a teacher met us at the door with a very scared grade 6 boy. The boy in a fit of enthusiasm for a dare had jumped up and touched the knob on the ceiling. It was the fire detector, three fire trucks later the little boy was convinced that he was not going to do that again. With a smile, I remembered the reply I had given when the teacher had said that she did not know what to do with the boy, simple, I said, with a jump like that, put him on the basketball team.
The board is showing us an alarm activation on the other side of the school, so we dutifully trudge down the corridors to the area of concern, even though we know that in all probability that this is a false alarm we check out the rooms as if there really could be something burning inside, until in one of the washrooms we find the problem, there, around the heat detector are the telltale burn marks that could only be caused by an applied flame. Probably a combination of one of those long barbeque lighters and boredom.
Another wind up. As I said, waste of time, waste of money and waste of safety. All that’s left to do is for our captain to tell the principal and we will be on our way home. Ready for the next one from this location, even though it might be, make that probably, a false alarm, we will roll on it with all the same vigor if it a real call.