Now let me ask you. Have you ever seen a "Box alarm Shit-show"? Firemen scrambling at shift change to pull gear off the rig and grab their own, while off-shifters, who are still in the riding position, get ready to jump on the rig because a fire popped off in your first due. I've observed this now and then, and it sucks every time. See, when I was a probie, a senior man took me aside and said, "When you first get to the station two things, get your mind right and your shit ready. Think about that fire or pin-in that may be tapped out right when you get to the house. Don't think about the mundane of the job, but focus on the extra-ordinary, and be ready for it." Twelve years later I still think of this as I'm driving to work. This used to be 10 minutes of thought. But, I married a country bohemian who worked her hippie magic on me and took this city boy to a farm damn near 2 hours away. So I have ample time to ponder shit. I eat a banana, drive faster than I should, and drink more coffee than I need. You can imagine when I get to the station, I'm ready for a real breakfast. But more importantly my body has learned that after 5 years of this drive, a sit-down potty would be great. But I remember those words. So I grab my gear, relieve the off-shift and get my "shit ready and mind right" the same way every day. I make sure my bottle is full and operational. I hang my turnouts just right. I ensure the tools I'm responsible for are serviceable and in place. I settle my thoughts while I do this, centering myself around what this job's about. And then, I go make room in my belly for a good breakfast. (Farm fresh eggs of course.)
But as I leave the app bay, every now and then I see a pile of gear staged at the back of a rig. I see that gears' owner sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, stories in progress. And a part of me cringes, for I know as a whole, our station is not as ready as we could, and should be. And if that box alarm drops, I'll observe the "shit-show" as I go through the practiced motions of turning out. I know my packs good, that my Irons and TIC are in place. I can concentrate on slowing my adrenaline rush. I can get my mindset focused while keeping my "awareness bubble" open. I'll be settling into my established rhythm, not stumbling out of the blocks trying to recapture my stride. I'll be taking that damn hydrant again in my sleep.
Now, I get it. Sitting around the firehouse table is the goods. All subjects are fair game: the previous day's fire, marital decompression, or watching the tinder swipes of the one single guy still in the house. Like I said, I get it. But small things can have big impacts. And I feel that choosing to make that gear pile instead of putting things right, diminishes our awareness from the start. I love this job, and the responsibilities that it carries. When I hang my gear on the rig, I truly expect fire. When I check my tools, I tell myself that if someone is trapped I will get them out. I want my best to be good enough when it counts. So instead of walking past the kitchen table immersed in my own routine, I know that it's up to me to pull that brother aside and pass on those words I was given. To ask him if he is truly ready for the day. If his mindset is where he feels it should be. I'll remind him that this job plays for keeps, and that it's imperative we control those facets that are controllable. So much is out of ours hands in this profession, but you don't have to be a senior man to care for, grasp, and mold those aspects we do have a hold of. We owe this to each other. And more importantly we owe it to those we are here for.