Fourth Duty Crew

We had an event to go to tonight, so duty crew started off with us shining up the truck and looking dignified.

After the event we went to dinner and got back at around 9. At that point, Ernst indicated that he wasn't planning on doing any training that night. This of course, came as no shock, but did present an irony (irony might be a bit strong, but it was a contradiction, and that's close enough given the week I'm having) based on something that reared up earlier in the week.

Ernst was having a discussion with some other firefighters when some story of a crew on a rescue engine (read: fire engine with saws and ropes and shit to pull people out of cars, rivers, holes, etc) was relayed to them; the upshot was that the crew didn't know how to operate something on the truck.

Ernst's disdain was palpable. His ensuing sermon on knowing the truck and being able to do one's job was vehement, scathing, and not just a little bit self-righteous. He went so far as to say the crew should either quit, or not ride until they were checked-out on everything.

If there is still some question on the irony:

Duty Crew 1 - Ernst couldn't show me the Stokes basket and webbing (called an MLF- [hehe, I know, MLF!!!) because he didn't know how.

Duty Crew 2 - During an actual call Ersnt didn't think the supply hose had the correct coupling on it, and was fretting about how I would hook it to a hydrant. (The supply hose, of course, did have the right coupling on it. Much the same way that the axe has a sharp end made specifically for chopping things, the supply-hose has a coupling made specifically for hooking up to a entity that provides supply.)

Duty Crew 3 - Ernst couldn't figure out why the hydraulics weren't running (engine was revving too high)

Duty Crew 4 - Argument ensued about steamer cap size again. Ernst insists they are 5 inches. They are 4.5. Might be a bit trite sounding now - probably more significant when water is flowing at 150 psi.

Still curious as to the irony? Okay... The fact is, any one of the above mistakes could be made by anybody in the fire service. There is a lot to know, and hence, a lot that can be forgotten, or distorted. There is also a lot of new stuff to learn.

How does a company keep their members fresh, current, well-informed, and finely-tuned? They drill. They train. They practice.

All the time.

In contrast to that, Ernst sits. Ernst bullshits. Ernst actually spends time watching TV in the company of Hemorrhoid. Not that I would expect Ernst to share my sense of delectable awe at his being culpable of the crimes he so angrily decries, but I would think something is tingling in the back of his head letting him know that I'm not missing the hypocrisy. Mayhaps not. Self-delusion is as rampant in the fire house as it is everywhere else.

During Ernst's repose, another Red Hat and I ran through the maze. Hot, and very, very close quartered, the maze is a semi trailer with 3 stacked tunnels running lengthwise up each side of the truck. Down the middle of the truck is an open corridor. Several tunnels run back and forth between the tunnels on the sides as well. An instructor will drop trapdoors, close lids, slide walls, and throw down netting all in an attempt to stop the maze-runner from finding the one path out. Oh yeah, it's also pitch-black darkness.

Sound tough? For claustrophobics, it's impossible. For people uneasy in confined spaces, it's do-able, but not fun. I was actually fine with the confinement. I had some difficulty with finding my way out, and I missed the correct path a few times, but other than that it was merely an effort in spacial relationships (my ass + scba + turnout gear > 2x2 tunnel), heat tolerance, and breath control. It was actually fun in a dark, blind, angry and smelly sort of way.

At one point I had about 1 second of anxiety - but it didn't really have time to sink in. I was able to logic it away because I knew I had to write about it and I didn't want anyone to think I was a pussy. That and the fact that I knew I was in a truck, with only 1 inch of plywood between me and freedom.

My next thought, however, was a bit more sobering: would that capability disappear in conjunction with the appearance of any real danger? How level-headed would I be in a 2x2 tunnel with fire beside me? Or toxic gas around me? Or another guy not there to pull me out? In that particular area I am 100% untested. There isn't really a class for that - a bumper sticker maybe - but not a class. But hey, in the lyrics of the immortal Kurt Cobain, "Who needs actions when you've got words?". Since smack talk seems to be the currency of choice at the station, perhaps I won't ever need to bring any real sack to the table.

During the night there was one call - and it was a false alarm. The good news is that I haven't missed the truck yet and I haven't held them up. Baby steps man. Baby steps.