How to Become a Firefighter

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One of the many careers listed on my resume is one of a Firefighter. I became a firefighter quite by accident many moons ago when I first started working full time. I was working and living in the mountains west of Calgary and was very happy with my job and had no real desire to run into burning buildings whatsoever.

One of my friends had applied for and got the job as Assistant Fire Chief at the local volunteer fire hall. It was a feather in his cap, and he was rightfully proud of his accomplishment. They had just finished a new fire hall for the area and he was really eager to show it off.

So I got a call from him one day, with an invitation to come over and see the new digs on a Wednesday night. Not having a lot to do, I agreed. That was my first mistake.

I arrived at about 6:30 pm and knocked on the door of the hall. A couple of seconds later, with the tumbling clatter of boots on stairs, my buddy appeared at the door and let me in. 

Just like the smell of a new car, there was a distinct new Fire Hall smell throughout the building. Try to imagine a combo of fresh paint, new tires, canvas, rope, rubber and an interesting aroma from the kitchen area and you'll be on the right track. Or not.

So my friend took me on the Grande Tour. We visited the offices, dorms, classroom, kitchen area and of course, the playground.

The playground was the main hall area that stored all the trucks. They had a bush truck, a pumper, an ambulance, a command/crew truck, a huge rack of hoses all neatly rolled, a compressor room, tool area, and a long rack where all the bunker gear was hung up neatly.

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Since it was a fairly new department, there were more racks that didn't have gear in them than did. Not noticing that was my second mistake.

I got to sit in the main pumper truck, turn on the flashing lights and poke around all the nifty little compartments that held many arcane tools and specialized equipment. My buddy was following along and noting things down on a clipboard, doing a truck inspection as I was playing. Just being efficient, he said. Huh.

As we got to the end of the truck and there were no other neat places I could explore, my friend went over to the bunker gear rack and said he wanted to show me a few things.

He explained how firefighters set up their boots and pants for a quick jump in and pull up and what the best way to get into the jacket and helmet as you ran to the truck when the alarms were going off.

He glanced at his watch and said "Oh, perfect, we're right on time. Come over here for a sec."

I followed him over to a long row of shelving holding bunker gear. As he grabbed a jacket, some pants, a helmet and other assorted items from the shelves, he started passing them to me. The pile grew larger and larger until he finally got to the boots and asked me my size.

Like a fool, I answered him (my third and final mistake) and he rummaged around to find the right size for me. Then he turned around with a big grin and said, "Welcome to the department! This is your official fire fighting gear. Your locker is the third from the left. Hang up your stuff and head to the classroom, the training night is starting in five minutes."

I tried sputtering out that I wasn't interested, but as I opened my mouth, some socks or gloves or something jumped in and silenced my protest. I was done for. Shanghaied. Dragooned.

But he did promise I could turn on the siren later, so it was all good.

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