Rescue Me – My five days with the boys of 62 Truck

by Scott Tunstall

When I was a kid, I dreamed about becoming a fireman. It seemed like such a cool and honorable profession to pursue. You get to live in a firehouse, which would be fun. Riding in the red truck with the siren was also appealing. Not to mention all that kick-ass gear: helmet, oxygen tank, long coat and best of all, the fire ax. The danger factor especially caught my eye. Of course, I was too naive to fully understand the perils real firefighters must face. When you’re twelve, it’s difficult to grasp the concept of mortality.

Once I started to notice girls, I lost interest in my desire to be one of the brave few who rush into burning buildings by choice. Little did I know that those same guys could score tons of hot chicks because they rushed into burning buildings by choice. Hey, I was a dope. If a girl smiled at me, I was picking out rings the very next day. Basically, I was 100 pounds of raging hormones with shit for brains. Adolescence blows, big time.

Watching Rescue Me for the last few years renewed my admiration for the real-life heroes known as firefighters. Since I lack the proper fitness level and necessary courage to join an actual crew, I thought I’d use the magic of prose to bring my childhood dream to fruition. I’ve inserted myself into the fictional world of 62 Truck. I’m gonna hang with the likes of Tommy, Franco and Garrity for five whole days in order to experience the ups and downs of life inside a firehouse. Here’s how I envisioned it would go.

Day 1: I’m the new guy, so let the hazing commence. My name isn’t Scott, Scotty or Scotto, it’s “probey.” I get a lot of, “Hey probey, get that” and “Probey, get your ass moving.” I don’t mind it much. I have to earn their respect, especially Tommy’s. He barely speaks to me. I think he nodded at me once, but I’m not certain. Mike is nice, though. He remembers what it’s like to be gum on the bottom of everyone else’s shoes. He gives me an invite to his new bar. Good guy that Mike; a little dim, but a good guy. Garrity seems okay, but his back is still killin’ him, so I leave him alone.

Day 2: We get a call around 10am. Apartment fire, ten blocks away. Lou bitches at me for taking too long getting into my gear. Franco says, “You look like you’re going to a god damn Halloween party.” The rest of the gang has a good laugh at my expense. We arrive at the scene. It’s crazy. Police cars, people running from the building. The fire is on the fifth floor. I secure my helmet and rush inside, right behind Mike. Lou tells the both of us to make sure the lower floors are clear. I run down the hallways, knocking on doors. Mike and I help an elderly woman wrangle her three cats. Turns out it was a grease fire in the kitchen. Tommy and Garrity get it under control.

Day 3: I am in the middle of a discussion about our weirdest looking dumps. Franco says he shit a “W” once. No one believes him, but he swears it’s true. Lou had one that was as wide as the hole in the bottom of the toilet. He says he had to chop it up with a wooden spoon before flushing. I admit to dropping one that was candy cane shaped. Franco refers to it as a “Merry Christmas shit.”

Day 4: Tommy spoke to me today! Well, sort of. He introduced me to Sheila, who stopped by the firehouse. She’s a sexy chick, but seems a little batty. Now that I think about it, Tommy disappeared after he introduced me. Sheila was pretty pissed. I think he used me to get away from her. Oh, well. He actually acknowledged my existence. Gotta start somewhere. Later, we all go to Mike’s bar. After the whole “Lumberjacks” and “completely black” experiments, the place looks sweet. I am totally vibin’ with this gorgeous brunette. She is eating up my lone firefighting story. When she comes back from the bathroom, she picks up her drink, calls me a “sick creep,” then leaves. What the fuck? I see Garrity and Franco busting a gut at the bar. Mike informs me, Franco told the girl I did six months upstate for repeatedly jerking off in public. Man, being a probey sucks!

Day 5: The exotic French writer is here today. I see her talking to Tommy in the locker room. He gives me a “get the fuck out” look, so I skedaddle. I ask the guys about 9/11. They get real quiet. Franco says watching it on television doesn’t do it justice: “You had to be there … I can’t explain it.” Lou says he still sees the faces of all the guys they lost. “You never forget them … never.” I didn’t need to hear any more. Twenty minutes later we are swapping tales about the biggest set of tits we have seen in person. Just another day at the firehouse. I’m really gonna miss the boys.