Travis Li Montgomery (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
designateddadfriend) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhigh2021-07-20 12:02 pm
designateddadfriend) wrote in fandomhigh2021-07-20 12:02 pm
Entry tags:
Fire & Rescue Bootcamp, Tuesday, Period 1
Oh hey! Travis was finally getting a chance to run his class. Having spent the last few days doing not much more than sleeping and sunbathing and procrastinating on putting the fire station back together, he was wholly unprepared.
But he was here. In uniform. In something called a "danger shop", which seemed entirely too appropriate for this godforsaken island.
"Right," he said. "So. Uh. Welcome to Fire & Rescue Bootcamp. Two weeks late. Which makes for a good first lesson for this sort of class: nothing ever, ever goes like you think it will. Ever."
He clapped his hands and pointed to a rack of turnouts he'd brought from the station (cleaned post-hole, thank you very much).
"One of the most important piece of equipment a firefighter has are his or her -- or their -- turnouts. That's what we call this lovely set of very heavy clothing I'm wearing." He tugged on his jacket. "Your turnouts include pants, usually held up by suspenders, boots, and a jacket. Now, these suckers weigh . . . a lot. And an average shift, at least back in Seattle where I trained and worked, is 24 hours long. Unless something has gone very very wrong, you're not going to be wearing your turnouts for the full shift. But when a call comes in, you need to be able to get into them quickly, or you will get left behind. So: that's what we're going to do today."
Travis pointed to a puddle of clothing on the floor, that looked a bit like someone had been raptured out of it. "Allow me to demonstrate. If someone wants to keep time?" He glanced around at the group, then nodded, assuming at least one of them would do it. Then he stepped into the puddle, sliding his legs into his boots and turnout pants all in one movement, and pulled them up, dragging the suspenders over his shoulders. He shrugged his jacket on a moment later, and his helmet followed, all in the matter of about two seconds.
He was a little rusty.
"Firefighting and rescue services are all about being prepared," he said. "So we train. We train hard. We train a lot. Most of the job is actually training, honestly. Even in regular towns that get fires on an ordinary basis." He shook his head. He was getting off on a tangent. "So today, each of you is going to find your own set of turnouts on this rack. It'll have your name on the back of the jacket, like this." He turned and showed them the bright yellow "MONTGOMERY" printed on the bottom hem of his jacket. "Locate your turnouts, put them on, and then run around the classroom. When you get back here, you're going to strip them back off and start all over again. First person to complete three rounds wins . . . something. TBD." He set his shoulders, stepped away from the rack, and yelled in his best drill sergeant voice: "On your marks! Get set! Go!"
But he was here. In uniform. In something called a "danger shop", which seemed entirely too appropriate for this godforsaken island.
"Right," he said. "So. Uh. Welcome to Fire & Rescue Bootcamp. Two weeks late. Which makes for a good first lesson for this sort of class: nothing ever, ever goes like you think it will. Ever."
He clapped his hands and pointed to a rack of turnouts he'd brought from the station (cleaned post-hole, thank you very much).
"One of the most important piece of equipment a firefighter has are his or her -- or their -- turnouts. That's what we call this lovely set of very heavy clothing I'm wearing." He tugged on his jacket. "Your turnouts include pants, usually held up by suspenders, boots, and a jacket. Now, these suckers weigh . . . a lot. And an average shift, at least back in Seattle where I trained and worked, is 24 hours long. Unless something has gone very very wrong, you're not going to be wearing your turnouts for the full shift. But when a call comes in, you need to be able to get into them quickly, or you will get left behind. So: that's what we're going to do today."
Travis pointed to a puddle of clothing on the floor, that looked a bit like someone had been raptured out of it. "Allow me to demonstrate. If someone wants to keep time?" He glanced around at the group, then nodded, assuming at least one of them would do it. Then he stepped into the puddle, sliding his legs into his boots and turnout pants all in one movement, and pulled them up, dragging the suspenders over his shoulders. He shrugged his jacket on a moment later, and his helmet followed, all in the matter of about two seconds.
He was a little rusty.
"Firefighting and rescue services are all about being prepared," he said. "So we train. We train hard. We train a lot. Most of the job is actually training, honestly. Even in regular towns that get fires on an ordinary basis." He shook his head. He was getting off on a tangent. "So today, each of you is going to find your own set of turnouts on this rack. It'll have your name on the back of the jacket, like this." He turned and showed them the bright yellow "MONTGOMERY" printed on the bottom hem of his jacket. "Locate your turnouts, put them on, and then run around the classroom. When you get back here, you're going to strip them back off and start all over again. First person to complete three rounds wins . . . something. TBD." He set his shoulders, stepped away from the rack, and yelled in his best drill sergeant voice: "On your marks! Get set! Go!"
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