Unless You're A Fireman (fiction)

Many years ago, a young man was driving around the city where I work, late at night, looking for a place to stay. His grandmother had died just two days before, and the funeral was to be held in a couple of days. He was only one day into a three-day cross-country trip, and already he was exhausted.

Neon taunted him from the signs outside every Motel: "NO VACANCY". In order to make the funeral, he would have to get up and be on the road by five in the morning. It was getting late.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Suddenly his car began pulling to the right, and the man suspected he had a flat tire, and so, pulled over. Even in the dark, his tire was obviously ruined. With a sigh, he grabbed his hat, buttoned his coat, and prepared to change the wheel in the rain.

Methodically, he removed his luggage from the trunk, putting it in the rear seat of his sedan to keep it dry. He pulled out the tire iron and jack, setting them on the ground, by the bad wheel. Upon hefting the spare wheel out of the trunk, he realized that the tire had gone flat over time, in the years it had lain there.

"Oh, that's just..." He clasped his head, crushing the sopping, felt fedora, "...great!"

Leaning against the car, he looked around the gloom. Several tidy houses were nearby, but no lights were on. The few businesses in the neighborhood had been closed for hours. Across the street, however, was a fire station. Lights burned in the windows, and shadowy shapes could be seen moving, behind the blinds.

At the front door, he rang a doorbell, and moments later, a young firefighter opened the door and ushered him in, out of the weather. Dripping in the foyer, the man related the problem with his spare tire. Just then, an older firefighter, wearing a white shirt, poked his head around the corner.

"Everything alright out here?"

"No, sir. This gentleman needs a tow truck. His spare tire is flat."

"Nonsense. It just needs air." The chief stepped into the entrance, and the young man noticed that he was wearing slippers. "Probie, fill this man's tire."

The young firefighter dashed out into the storm, and the chief shook hands with the man. "Come in, come in. Have you eaten?"

When the man admitted that he hadn't, the officer ushered him into the kitchen. A delicious aroma lingered in the air, and several firefighters were sitting around the table, talking over hot chocolate. They quieted when the pair entered.

"This fellow needs a hot meal!" He barked the words, but he winked sideways at the young man. The firefighters jumped up and scurried: one to the refrigerator, one to the pantry, and one to the cupboard. By the time the man had removed his soaking wet coat and hat, a plate of hot food and a mug of cocoa were placed before him.

A surge of emotion, memories came over the man, and he realized two things: he was ravenous, and never before had he smelled anything so tantalizing. In between bites, he told the chief about his grandmother, about the motels, about his desperation. As he ate, he began to believe that everything was going to be okay, and a great peace befell him, a contentment he'd never before felt.

"Well, don't you worry about finding a room. You can stay here tonight ...If you don't mind the occasional fire alarm." When the young man started to slowly shake his head, "Nope. I insist. You'll be my guest. We have a couple of spare beds, upstairs, in the ward... don't take the one next to Hicks, though - he snores!" chuckling.

The man had to know, "What did I just eat? That was the most amazing thing I have ever tasted, but I have no idea what it was."

"I can't tell you. Want some ice cream?"

"You can't? Well, who can?"

"Well... nobody can, sir. -unless you're a fireman. It's a secret." The chief smiled. "About that ice cream?"

At that moment, the firefighter who had answered the door entered the kitchen. "Tire's all fixed, sir. I put it on for you, and it should be fine, for a few days, at least."

The chief explained that the traveler would be sleeping in the ward, and sent the probie to help the man fetch his luggage. Outside, the man asked the probie about the dinner.

"Can't tell you unless you're a fireman." At the car, smiling against the cold rain, he took both suitcases from the man. "Sure is good, though, isn't it?"

"Sure is. Say, what's it take to become a fireman?"

The firefighter set down the luggage, and looked directly at the man for a moment, the rain soaking his hair, his uniform.

"Sir, I'll tell you, it's the best thing I have ever done. You'll need to take tests, written tests, and physical ability tests, some grueling. You'll also need to pass oral examinations, attend interviews, get a medical evaluation... If you're hired, you'll spend a year or more, on probation, at the bottom of the heap, doing the housework, all the dirty jobs. You'll see astounding things, horrible things. In that time, you have to win the respect, love, and trust of all your brothers. When that happens, you're a fireman." He picked the suitcase up again, and headed across the street, back to the station, in the downpour.

That night, the man had difficulty falling asleep. The flavors and texture, the smell and colors of his meal, the kindness of these men, filled his thoughts. The next thing he realized, the probie was gently shaking him awake.

"The shower's running. I'll have breakfast waiting when you come down. How do you take your coffee?"

All that day, and the next, on the road the young man could only think about becoming a firefighter. At the funeral, his family asked him about his life, his job. He told them he had decided that he was going to become a firefighter. When he got home, he began visiting fire departments, asking around about fire service tests. He began to study fire science and emergency medicine. He worked for an ambulance company. And he continued to take tests. Finally, he was invited in for an oral board, and ranked on a hiring list. He waited for the call, but it never came, and so he continued to take tests. More oral boards, more interviews, still taking every fire department test he heard about.

One day, three years after his flat tire, he got the call he had been waiting for. He was offered a provisional position, as firefighter, pending a medical evaluation and background check. He passed with flying colors, and became the newest firefighter, a probie, in his department.

He worked very hard, always trying to save others time and effort. When there was work to be done, he was the first to start, that last to finish, whistling, a smile on his face. He cleaned toilets, dishes, fire engines, equipment, and worked tirelessly in the kitchen to feed his crew.

At last the day came, when his chief called him into his office, handed him the recipe, and patiently explained the finer points. On that day, the secret of the food that he had tasted years before was entrusted to him: the ingredients, the preparation, the seasoning, even the proper cookware...

But I can't tell you unless you're a fireman.