I remember one time as a probie (first year probationary firefighter) in Queens, I was awed by the courage of Jimmy F. who tried to sneak in a shower on duty, being filthy from a previous run. The tones went off and I was amazed to see this streaking firefighter covered in soap suds sprinting for his bunker gear. At the time it took all my nerve just to take a shit on duty, for fear of being interrupted mid-release. Now when I shit on duty, I lay strips of toilet paper across my pulled-down pants, and get a laugh in the kitchen sometimes when I impart this wisdom to the guys, “You’ve got to start with five strips across your pants before you let it fall.” Believe me, I’ve been sitting on that john too many times when the tones have gone off. It’s speed-wipe and run, because no matter what we’re out that door in thirty seconds flat. Lives are on the line… or more importantly (just kidding?) my reputation. I don’t want any turn-out waiting on me. In the fire department, a reputation, good or bad, follows an individual and sticks to a company. As the saying around the kitchen table goes, “You can build a thousand bridges, but suck one cock and you’re a cock sucker.” No offense to cock suckers. It’s a saying that’s a bit off color, as the firehouse kitchen often is, but you get the point.
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When: Feb 7, 2009 9:00:00 PM
Where: M Shanghai Den in Brooklyn,New York
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That’s a fascinating story. Especially the part about the toilet paper. Good idea. By the way, that used to happen to us on trauma call at Elmhurst. We’d try to sneak out to one of those great ethnic restaurants across the street, the whole team (about 6 residents), about 9:00 pm or so, we’d order, and we’d be tapping out feet, gnawing our fingernails, hoping the food would arrive before before we got called in. Most of us hadn’t eaten since breakfast, if we had even bothered to eat breakfast. If someone got served dinner first, they wouldn’t wait for everyone else, they’d just scarf it down, in case we got called away. Once I had a Columbian plato montanero, heaping ground beef with plantains and an egg on top with spicy red sauce, and as soon as the waitress lowered the plate to the table, I had to leave it sitting, untouched, the steam still rising. Hey, that’s the freaking risk you take. I left a $10 bill, too, since I didn’t have smaller bills, and it was only worth about $6, and there wasn’t time to get change. Damn, I have to go back someday and get me one of those, when I’m not on call. And they owe me money, on top of it all.
Nav,
I like the animal-fscker version of that joke, e.g.:
A Scottish old timer in Scotland, in a bar, talking to a young man.
The Old Man says, “Lad, look out there to the field. Do ya see that fence? Look how well it’s built. I built that fence stone by stone with me own two hands. I piled it for months.”
“But do they call me McGreggor-the-Fence-Builder? Nooo…”
Then the old man gestured at the bar. “Look here at the bar. Do ya see how smooth and just it is? I planed that surface down by me own achin’ back. I carved that wood with me own hard labour, for eight days.”
“But do they call me McGreggor-the-Bar-builder? Nooo…”
Then the old man points out the window. “Eh, Laddy, look out to sea…Do ya see that pier that stretches out as far as the eye can see? I built that pier with the sweat off me back. I nailed it board by board.”
“But do they call me McGreggor-the-Pier-Builder? Nooo…”
Then the old man looks around nervously, trying to make sure no one is paying attention.
“But ya fuck one goat…”