Fighting Fires

As a young girl, I wanted to be an electrician, but I never wanted to be a firefighter - not until Saturday.

I was at the Upper Montrose street festival for the annual "trading of the junk" - a street-wide yard sale. I hauled a bunch of my stuff up there, in an attempt to clear some space in the basement. I sold a bunch of junk for a loony at a time. In the end, I had a pocket full of change that added up to about $50, which I was planning to use to take my father out for Father's Day.

The festivities were just beginning: make your own cupcake, the kiddie bike parade, the adult vs. children hockey game, street dance, etc. But, I had to get going to the comedy club. En route, I passed the firefighters display at the end of the street. A pair of pants were rolled down around a big pair of rubber boots, sitting on the street beside the truck. All the parents were bringing their little kids over to have their photo taken sitting in the truck. Well, since I don't have any kids, I jumped right in there myself. I stepped out of my sandals and into the boots. It took some effort to get all those layers on, which felt great on a hot and humid day. Not only hot but heavy. With all the gear, I was carrying almost an additional 100 lbs. Yikes.

The guys were great sports, and seemed like a lot of fun, but I decided that firefighting was probably not for me. I'm afraid of heights, plus I don't like shift work. So I hung up my suit and put my sandals back on, and made my way back down to Lower Montrose, where my career ambitions return to being just an electrician (or at least until I install the new light fixture that I got at the yard sale).