This weekend I personally saw, and was physically in, the fire and brimstone Hell of the Bible-thumpers. It was a firefighting class called the Live Burn Simulator. Imagine a 50’ shipping container broken into three sections inside. The back is support equipment, the middle is where the operating instructor sat and ran the controls, and the front was the fire room. Inside of there were a number of propane jets in various places and configurations to simulate common interior fires, like a leaking gas meter, a burning parts cleaner, and a fireplace. Other jets simulated flashovers and backdrafts, which can kill a firefighter very quickly and can sneak up on you. It as dark, it stank when everything was shut off, was indescribably loud when burning, and the operator was a sadistic SOB on top of all that. Let me also add that you cannot put out burning propane with water, and this is intentional in this situation, because the operator shuts the fire out when he’s sure you did the job. I was intimidated, and I consider myself fearless. That’s the stage.
We had a class of 19 on paper, and 13 who actually showed up. I was the only one from Mayberry, but Hooterville (NC, not Sean’s) sent four. One was a young kid from the local department in Betsytown, who was just elevated from junior member to full, and as not been to anything more serious than a brushfire to date. In class, he talked the most trash of anyone there. My trouble sensors should have gone off, but they didn’t.
I was part of Team #1, which meant we always went first when the scenarios changed. First time in was a simple exercise, and we did it very quickly with only a couple of marks against us. I relaxed a bit because I came accustomed to the place.
The Kid was in Team #3. They went in, and he froze in fear. The instructors had to shut down and walk him out, he was shaking so badly. They sat him down with their wives, who were also experienced, and the ladies sent a half hour with him calming him down and getting him back inside.
We did our second scenario, and watched as Team #3 went in. About a minute into it, The Kid bolts out the emergency exit, literally having pooped his pants. Things were looking bad, because his department buddies lost their confidence in him. More talking from the wives and the instructors both for almost an hour, and they laid it on the line to him: three strikes, buddy. There’s no shame in bowing out because interior hosework is not for you, but you have to face your fears NOW, or you’ll never have another shot at it.
This is where the Betsytown boys lost some of my respect. Granted, the other guys had been around block a few times, and they and valid points for not wanting to work with a chicken, but this is training, and you don’t turn your back on one of your own. The Kid was in as much trouble as someone down inside, but in a different manner. It was at this point I got involved. The instructors set up a special scenario, without any flashes or anything, and tapped me and two from Hooterville to be his team. Of course I’ll go, because it was way too easy to imagine me filling my drawers the first time. The three of picked were the biggest guys there, either in height or width. Publicly we were to back him and provide encouragement, but privately, don’t let him out until the exercise was done.
The fire room was lit, and in we charged with The Kid on nozzle. The second guy left the line to find the gas shutoff, and I moved up. He was shaking like an epileptic Chihuahua, but he stuck with it, and ended the exercise. We pulled out, and when he doffed his air mask, he damn near swallowed his head smiling so hard. We saved one yesterday.
Today, we did three more exercises with two line attacks. The second time the Kid went in today, he was nozzle, and on the last, he found Woody the rescue dummy. That took a big pair, because by that time, everyone in the class had been roasted at least once today by direct flame contact.
Oh, and Happiness Is Dry Turnout Gear. I was soaked all the way through when we ended today, and it was 42F out there. Brrrrrrrr! My red suspenders left pink streaks on my t-shirt, even…
