Top Ten Signs You Need to Upgrade Your Cell Phone

10.  It’s in a bag

9.  It’s neither wireless nor cordless

8.  Texting involves a pigeon and a hand written note (or pressing the number 9 four times to get a "Z")

7.  Your carrier is Mugsy’s Storm Door and Cell Service and your payment method is cash only in unmarked bills left behind a park bench down by the river

6.  Your camera phone is actually a Polaroid Camera duct taped to it

5.  Instead of “Siri” you have “Serious”, your ex wife’s voice, who nags you constantly

4.  It’s the size of Maxwell Smart’s (Get Smart) shoe phone

3. It has only two ring tones; the fax machine noise, and the banjo music from Deliverance

2.  It has a removable rubber antenna.  Which you lost years ago

1. You think “Connecting with Bluetooth” means spending quality time with your grandma

FLIGHT 7734

This story is true.  It takes place two years ago on my flights to and from Texas for the fire school, where I encountered some unusual circumstances, to put it nicely.

It started in Augusta around 7am, where my plane was on time. I was scheduled to connect in Atlanta and then arrive in Houston about noon. 

We boarded the small jet that seats about 30 people and waited for takeoff.  After about an hour of sitting there waiting in the 100 degree temp, the captain came on the speaker and said “Ahh, attention folks, ahh, it seems we have encountered a problem with the push-back tractor, and ahh, we have to wait for the ground crew to make repairs before we can ahh be pushed back from the gate”. 

Holy moly. The Augusta airport is so small that we only have ONE push-back tractor!?! Well, we do only have two planes landing and taking off  a day and one of those is a crop duster. In the terminal area we only have TWO gates. Actually, it’s so small, a lady named Aunt Doris is the ticket check-in person, baggage handler, coffee server, security checkpoint person, bathroom attendant, ticket taker, PA announcer, TV remote operator, flight attendant, and the pilot.

Just let me off the stinkin plane, my truck is in the parking lot, I will push this sucker back.  As a matter of fact, Aunt Doris can probably push it back by hand. 

So we sat there about two hours until finally the tractor was repaired, or they called Uncle Doris to bring his John Deere down to the airport to push us back.

Obviously, this delay made me miss my connection in Atlanta (where they have 16 million push-back tractors) so I had to wait there for a few hours. 

Finally, they called our flight and as we were boarding zone three, suddenly, all these people starting coming back out of the jet-way.  Then an announcement, “Ahh, folks it looks like we ahh have had a fire on board in the ahh toilet.  Ahh, we will have to find another plane for the flight to ahh Houston”.  Unbelievable.  How the heck do you have a FIRE in the toilet?  Too much Taco Bell for lunch?  Extra hot bean nachos and a spicy chalupa? It’s pretty bad when you leave the bathroom so messed up that you have to set a fire to cover up the stench.       

Well, after many delays, I finally arrived in Houston about 9pm and drove to College Station, where I arrived around 11pm.

I was thinking, hey, I got all my flight troubles out of the way on my flight out here, so going home will be a breeze. Not so fast my friend.

After a great and uneventful week at the fire school, I headed over to Houston to prepare myself for a lovely flight home.

We boarded about 30 minutes late, not too bad, and took off in the friendly skies to Atlanta.   I had a two seat aisle to myself, it was fantastic. Some lady was screaming at her 4 year old “JEFFREY, JEFFREY, JEFFERY!” So, I put on my headphones and tried to relax.  Still way better than the last flight. 

Until…about 45 minutes into the flight…

The captain came on the PA and said, without any hesitation, “Everyone please fasten your seat belts, tray tables up, electronics off, we are preparing to land”.  I was optimistically like, wow, that was really fast!

Again the captain is on the PA, this time with a little more nervousness in his voice “It appears we have lost all electronic navigation and we are making an emergency landing in Baton Rouge. Flight attendants please sit down and fasten your seat belts.  Passengers insure your seat belts are fastened and tight”.  Uh oh.  This doesn’t sound good. 

I have flown maybe 100 times in my life, but this is the only time that I can remember being truly concerned. 

We buckled up and prepared for the worse.  People were praying out loud, including me.  We quickly descended and made an extremely rough, but safe landing.  Applause erupted. 

A guy sitting across the aisle from me looked over with a frightened, yet relieved face and said “I used to be a commercial pilot.  That was a lot worse than he let us know.  He landed completely in the blind”.  Wow.  At least we were safe.   

In the terminal we get word that our plane cannot be repaired.  There were no more flights out to Atlanta available that evening so it was decided that we would be bussed over to the New Orleans airport about 2 hours away.

We had to claim our luggage quickly and get on the move because the flight left New Orleans in about two and a half hours. 

As it turns out, no more buses were available, so we were transported via taxis.  I climbed in the front passenger seat and two guys got in the back.  Neither spoke English.  The taxi driver took off fast and wild.  Halfway out of the airport he says “Hmmm, maybe I should have gotten gas earlier”.  What?!? Even more good news.

We hit the rush hour traffic on Interstate 10 and slowed to a snail’s pace.  There’s no way we are making this flight.  The gas light “dinged” on the Taxi dash board and I looked at the driver and said “How in the world do you show up to an airport with no gas?”  He just smiled and said “We will make it”.  Famous last words.

If you’ve ever been there, you know in July, in south Louisiana, strong thunderstorms are the norm of the day, especially this time of day, in rush hour traffic, late for a flight, and your taxi is low on gas.   As all the oceans in the world fell out of the dark clouds, the taxi began to sputter, and then stop.  We coasted to the side of the road about halfway between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, completely out of fuel.  The guys in the back seat started yelling and cursing something, I think. 

 

I had been texting a friend and fellow instructor that lives in Louisiana updating him on all the escapades, and at this point I am no longer upset but I am literally laughing out loud so hard tears are running down my face. 

We all three jumped out in the pouring rain, and PUSHED the taxi to the next exit and down the off-ramp to a gas station.  Completely out of breath and soaked to the bone, we climbed back in the taxi and waited for the driver put in $20 worth of gas. $20 really?   Exasperated faces are the same no matter what country you are from.

We arrived at the New Orleans airport 10 MINUTES before departure time.  I thought there’s no way they are gonna let me check my luggage and get on this plane.  But, I was wrong.  The nice lady said “We’ve been waiting on you, give me your luggage and get to your flight!”  I made it. 

No other troubles followed.  I got home to Augusta at 3am the next morning.  I think there was a guy who left Texas the same time as I did on his bicycle and made it to Augusta before I did, but thank GOD I made it safely. 

As I drifted off to sleep in my own bed, I dreamed the Texas Fire School put in an airplane toilet fire training prop… 

 

 

 

The Hunting Lodge

 

During one of our recent trips on an out-of-town job, my coworker (who I will call Dave) and I had trouble finding a place to stay overnight.  The company where we planned to work was located in a very secluded, backwoods area of South Carolina.  There was only one hotel located within 30 miles of this plant and it was completely over-booked with contractors because of a scheduled plant outage.  So we searched the internet for another location which could accommodate us for a few nights.

We lucked upon a nice looking hunting lodge built on several acres, with a lake, horses, pool tables, fire pits, and numerous other fancy amenities.  We felt lucky to have found it, booked it, and headed south. 

By the time we arrived, having spent most of the evening searching the back roads in the pitch black darkness, it was now about 10pm.  As we slowly traveled the long winding driveway in our truck and trailer, I got a sudden chill which I couldn’t explain.  We finally reached the lodge house and to our right we noticed a dimly lit covered patio.  There stood a hunter (I guess it was a hunter) just beginning to gut a deer that was hanging up by its hind legs.  Now, I’m not usually squeamish when it comes to blood and guts, but as he looked over at us and gave us a toothless grin, a pack of wild dogs immediately started devouring the guts and other innards coming out of that deer. 

Suddenly, a loud rapping sound on the driver’s window startled us and we turned to see another large man with a few teeth motioning for us to roll down the window.  This is the opening credits of every horror-slasher movie I have ever seen.  We are the prey in a bad movie.

Dave was driving, so he rolled the window down about 3 inches and asked if we were at the right place.  Unfortunately, we were. 

 We reluctantly left the seemingly safe confines of the truck and old-man-knife-killer showed us around.  He showed us to our rooms, the only two rooms remaining, in a stand-alone building where the pool table was.  Apparently the website photos were taken in the 70’s. 

We asked about keys and checking in and he said “Keys? Son we don’t have any locks on the rooms around here.  Don’t need em!”

Wait. Didn’t I hear that in a Texas Chainsaw movie once?

We put our bags in our room as the old man wandered off.  I noticed in my room these large scratches on the inside and outside of my door, which again had no lock.  I repeat. It had no lock.  I could only assume (actually hope and pray) that one or more of the many dogs around the lodge had made the scratches.  Dave retired to his room to check out what surprises awaited him. 

We settled in our rooms hoping to catch some sleep before the 5am wake up call. 

As I brushed my teeth in the awful, nasty bathroom, I saw a pool of blood in my shower!  Again, it is a hunting lodge, maybe it’s just deer blood.  Or maybe a zombie just had a hankering for a shower and lost some body parts.

I lay down on the bed, being sure to leave a light on, and all my clothes, when a knock came at my door.  I asked “who’s there?” Dave replied.  So I moved all 4 pieces of my furniture from out of in front of the door to see what he needed.  I don’t recall what he wanted, but he was laughing hysterically at me moving all the furniture from against the door.  Laugh it up, Scooby snacks. 

When I lay back down, I turned the light out this time.  I tried to close my eyes but people walked past my window, dogs barked, and howled, and growled, and ate guts. 

I finally relaxed a little, my eyes got heavy, and as I almost drifted off to sleep, I saw it.

Now maybe I’ve watched too many Jason, Freddy, Cabin-in-the-Woods, and Steve Buscemi movies that have all probably planted some unwanted things in my imagination, but  this time I am sure of what I saw.

The ceiling was moving.  Let me say that again.  THE CEILING WAS MOVING.

I blinked my eyes several times to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me.
It was still moving.
I slowly reached over to the lamp and switched it on. 
As light filled the room, about a million, no, a trillion huge cockroaches scattered across the ceiling, some falling down on my bed and on ME.

I jumped up and screamed something in some foreign language and fled to the bathroom! So that's where the blood in the shower came from.  The Orkin man is now an Edgar suit.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink.

Around 4 am, I quietly crept over to Dave’s room and slowly ran my fingernails down his door several times.

I heard him scream and I heard furniture moving…

     

 

 

Horse-Play

Several years ago, some friends and I went up to the mountains and rented a large house for a week long getaway.  It was around this time of year, cold at night and pleasant during the day. 

 

We all decided to get in as many excursions as possible during this time off from work, so we planned out something for every day. 

 

We spent one day mountain biking, one day riding 4-wheelers, another white water rafting, and one hiking on the local trails.  Then came the fateful day when everyone had planned to go horse-back riding.  I had never been horse-back riding before, and I won’t say I was “scared”, but I was extremely reluctant.  I had previously made it a mission in my life not to ride any living thing that was larger than me.  I didn’t want to break my promise or my face on this day.  So, I did what every smart man afraid of something does.  I faked an illness. 

 

When all my friends headed out that morning to the local ranch, I made the announcement that I had contracted some rare form of taco shagella revenge from the previous night’s dinner and should not venture far from the facilities.  They all laughed at me and went on to the ranch to have their fun, making jokes about my disfunctions along the way. 

 

So, there I was, laying around the house, goofing off, watching a little TV, and chilling.  But, soon my conscience started getting the better of me.  Why should I be here faking a sickness when I could be out having fun? Why should I be afraid to try something new?

 

Proud of my new found courage, I hopped in the truck and headed to my destiny of being a professional horse-back rider. Or maybe even a rodeo champion.

 

After I arrived, I picked out a horse that no one was riding and jumped right in the saddle.  There would be no lessons for me.  After all, I'm a man.  Who needs a lesson, or instructions, or a map?  I'm tackling this fear head on.

 

 Off we went.  It was a slow trot to begin with and it wasn’t so bad. A little rough on the hind end (mine, not his) but not too bad.  We trotted along for a short while...then he picked up speed. 

Things were going great. Birds were singing, fresh air was blowing through my hair, um, I mean hat, when suddenly, I found myself slipping from the saddle to the right. I panicked and tried to pull myself back up with no luck. I started yelling “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!”  Nothing doing, the horse turned a deaf ear and didn’t even slow down. 

Here I was slipping farther and farther under the horse, closer and closer to the ground.  I tried to let go and possibly fall to the ground and take a few bumps and bruises...but now my foot was caught in the stirrup!  The horse’s hooves grew nearer and nearer to my head!  This was it; this is how it all ends.  My last day on earth would be forever known for being trampled underneath a horse.  Why didn’t I stay on the couch, faking my illness and watching TV? 

 

As if his spidey sense kicked in, the on-duty manager of Kmart saw me from inside and quickly rushed out in front of the store, unplugged my horse, and saved my life.

I thanked the Kmart manager and nicely asked for my 50 cents back, wherein he showed me a finger and asked me to leave.

 

Never again will you catch me horse-back riding.

And I’m not allowed back within 100 yards of that Kmart.

Bad Neighbors



"Ned, your granddaughter called and wants her shorts back"





We’ve all had those neighbors that cause us trouble.  There are those that are always too loud, who party all hours of the night, and end up with all their living room furniture on the front lawn by the next morning.  There are those that have pets that poop in your yard for you to step in barefooted as you get your morning paper.  Those that have the dog that barks constantly as their owners seem totally oblivious to the noise.  Neighbors that spy on your every move, waiting for you to do something stupid or interesting so they can gossip about it in order to make their own lives more interesting. 

 I’ve told stories of my bad neighbors who wanted snakes killed and started out of control fires, and other junk, so now I will turn the other cheek.  I won’t tell all here as I think the statute of limitations is still in effect on a few.  But, here are a couple of stories about me being the bad neighbor.

Encounter #1

I lived in North Carolina in a town called Huntersville near Charlotte for a couple of years.  I had only been living there a few weeks, when I returned home from a three day business trip to find an elderly gentleman standing in my front yard holding a baseball bat. 

If you have ever been in this position, you know a lot of things go through your mind such as “Was that girl I dated last week married?”, “Did I forget to pay my bookie?”, “Did I get drunk and pee in the neighbors’ begonias?” or  “Is this guy a door-to-door baseball bat salesman?”  With a lump in my throat, and my mind racing to remember any clue about someone I may have wronged recently, I pulled to the curb in front of my house instead of the driveway or garage like normal.  I looked over in my seat, and with quick thinking grabbed my white hard hat, put it on, and picked up my notebook.  I stepped out of my truck looking all official and asked the slugger “Excuse me sir, are you the homeowner?”  His response was not near as friendly as mine.  He said “No, but when I get a hold of him, he’s gonna wish he wasn’t the homeowner”.  Oh no.  That doesn’t sound good at all.

With my brain working surprisingly faster than I thought it could, I told him I was the local utility guy and was surveying the neighborhood for some underground utility problems.  I asked him where he lived and why he was so upset.  He said “I live right behind this house and this idiot guy here has left his flood lights in the backyard burning day and night for several days now.  Every night when we go to bed, those bright flood lights shine directly into our bedroom window causing it to look like we are lying on a railroad track in a tunnel waiting to be dismembered by the approaching train.  My wife and I haven’t slept in three days.  Not only because of the lights, but because of her non-stop nagging for me to do something about it! So, I have come over here to either knock out the lights or knock out the homeowner. But, apparently he’s not home because I have been ringing the doorbell and knocking for 30 minutes now.” 

I thought to myself, crap, I didn’t even know I had flood lights back there, much less that I had left them on.  I said “Sir, let me make a phone call first before you do something crazy and get arrested.  I’m sure my office has his name and information for billing purposes. Maybe we have his cell phone number so we can get in contact with him”.

I took my cell phone and pretended to call “my office” and sort of walked away a little so he only heard some kind of chatter but couldn’t make out what I was saying.  I took about 5 minutes of pacing around, then got off the phone and said “Sir, it’s been handled.  My dispatcher contacted the homeowner who is apparently away on business, but will be returning later today.  She will pass the information on to him to take care of the lights when he returns.”  The old man walked away with his head down mumbling something under his breath about an itchy knife, or something, waiting for him at home.  And he didn’t even have the courtesy to thank me for all my pretend work and trouble.

 As he slowly moseyed back home, I walked around the yard for a few minutes looking at the ground real stupid like for some imaginary underground utility problem, looked next door, nodded my head a few times, shook my head a few times, raised an eyebrow and pretended to jot down a few very important notes.  Then, when he was out of sight, I hopped in my truck and drove off. 

After wasting an hour or so at the local Walmart, I returned to my house, as covertly as possible pulled in the driveway and scanned the area for the great Bambino, who was undoubtedly hiding in the bushes waiting to “take out my lights”.  No sign of him.  I quietly eased my truck into the garage, made a bee line to the flood light switch (which before today didn’t even know existed), quickly turned them off, got my ladder, went directly into the backyard and removed the bulbs so that this would never happen again.  

Luckily, my back yard stayed dark and he never came back over.

Encounter #2

After living in Huntersville in the same house mentioned above for about a year, I came home one day, grabbed some bubba burgers out of the freezer and fired up the grill.  As you can tell by encounter #1, my backyard backed up to numerous other neighbors’ backyards.  Some had privacy fences, some didn’t.  Mine didn’t. One other fenceless neighbor was outside grilling at the same time I was and yelled over at me “Hey, great weather for grilling, huh!”  I responded by agreeing, went back in the house, and grabbed the burgers and my grilling spatula.  When I stepped outside again, I thought of something funny and yelled it back at the neighbor that was grilling.

Now, I guess not all people are as humorous as I think I am, or watch as much TV as I do (which is not a whole lot, just a few hours a week unless it’s football season), or remember all the stupid unimportant stuff that I do.  I’m not sure if you have seen this particular commercial, in which a bunch of guys are outside grilling in their yards then they all start yelling something about Hillshire Farms smoked sausages.  It’s a very annoying, yet catchy, commercial.

So, here I am being stupid and thinking I’m so funny and this neighbor is going to be on the same level with me and have a quick comeback.  As I hold up my huge metal grilling spatula, I yell at my neighbor “GO MEAT!” whereby he gets a very strange look on his face, abruptly turns, goes into his house, and slams the door behind him.  I thought it was strange, maybe his phone rang in the house and he had been dreading the call all day.  So, I finished cooking my burgers without seeing him again that night, went in the house, settled in, ate, watched stupid stuff on TV, and thought nothing else about it.

The very next day I get home from work and there are about 30 guys feverishly building a privacy fence around the angry grilling neighbor’s yard.  I step out on my back deck and I hear one worker say it’s time to knock off.  Suddenly neighbor grill-boy steps out of his back door, sees me and yells at the workers “You will finish that fence before you leave here!”  Back to work they went as if the warden had spoke, and finally finished the fence about 11pm that night.

I grilled numerous times after that, walked the backyard, peeped over his fence, and pretty much TRIED to see him outside so I could strike up some small talk or something.  I never, ever saw that man again.  One time I stepped outside and saw his daughter was playing on their deck.  Suddenly, an arm reached out of their back door and yanked her inside so fast that her toy actually hung in the air for a moment before gravity realized it was there.

Now, I never really found out why that phrase I yelled caused such a problem.  Did he think I was making a pass at him?  Had he been ridiculed with the “go meat” phrase before?  Did his wife yell that phrase at him in the bed sometimes? Did he get fired from Hillshire Farms in the past? Did he think I was dyslexic and meant to say “go team”?  Had he never seen the commercial?  I really didn’t understand how I could have offended him so badly.

But still, I thought it was hilarious and hoped I would see him out grilling again so I could yell something else stupid like “Where’s the beef?” or “Crank it, spank it, smack it on the bing-bong!” or loudly sing “It’s peanut butter jelly time!”  Or hold a hot dog up in the air and say “Look at my wiener!”

Oh well, no such luck.

Goofy neighbors.

BLUE

A good friend (who I will call Jack) and I used to go to Daytona every year during the week of July 4^th to hang out at the beach, fish on the river, and go to the NASCAR race. 

We would stay at his dad’s place on the Saint John’s River about 25 miles from Daytona Beach.  It’s a nice little fish camp with everything from old small RVs and campers to nice refurbished 2 bedroom cabins.  There are about 15 or so campers and probably about 10 small cabins.  Some of the campers have been in place over 20 years and have become pretty much immovable. The tenants have added all kinds of “upgrades” such as built on screened-in porches, huge TV antennas, satellite dishes, barbeque pits, boat garages, parking pads, gardens, and all kinds of yard art.

The camper we always stayed in was a small, sleeps 8 kind, with cold AC, a full size fridge, and a nice screened in porch that was as twice as large as the camper.  It was comfortable, clean, and even had cable for the 13 inch television.  It had a bathroom inside the camper (and here’s where things get a little inconvenient) but the shower stall was so small that you could take a shower, sit on the toilet, brush your teeth, shave, watch TV, carry on a face-to-face conversation with someone on the porch, and fix an omelet on the stove while grabbing the ingredients out of the fridge all at the same time.

We had a guy staying with us one year that was a friend of Jack’s dad.  Now I am a big guy, but this guy was about 6 ft and 350.  One morning he was taking a shower while everyone else was outside grilling up some breakfast when we heard a spine tingling scream that sounded like a wild pig being forced feet first into a meat grinder.  Jack’s dad rushed inside to find his friend, naked of course, STUCK in the shower stall where he had tried to pull a 360 turn in order to rinse himself off.  Having rinsed off some of the soap causing “squeaky clean” skin, he stuck to the shower stall wall when he tried to spin around. So, there he stood, a huge man, half covered in soap, shampoo in his hair, and wedged in the tiny stall like 50 pounds of meat overflowing a 20 pound box.  Because none of us volunteered to put our hands on the naked guy, we had to call the fire department to get him out.  I never heard about him visiting ever again.

On another trip, about 6am one morning, having just barely woken up, we were all laying around discussing what our plans were for the day.  It was race day and we were all pretty excited to get moving, maybe get in a little fishing before we went to the track later that afternoon.  About that time, rain started pouring down on the roof of the camper.  Jack’s dad went on a verbal rampage about how sorry the weatherman was for saying it would be sunny and hot with no chance of rain today.  This put a major damper on our plans, especially if it was raining at race time.  Jack’s dad stepped onto the porch to check out the weather.  That’s when he saw him.  It was Blue, the local crazy old, and I mean old, like 90 years old, man.

Really his name wasn’t Blue, I didn’t even know his real name, but Jack and I had given him that name because he looked and acted exactly like the old man named Blue in the movie Old School. He was a funny, loud mouthed, prankster, crazy, old man.

So, with Jack’s dad staring straight at him, and not a cloud in the sky, Blue stood there with a water hose in each hand raining water down on top of our camper.  Blue yelled “Ha, ha! Ya’ll fellers thought it was raining and it had ruined your whole day! Ya’ll just a bunch of fools.  If you want to see a real race, let me race ya!”

Blue had a brand new Dodge pick-up truck and he loved to challenge anybody to a race.  I believe if Bill Elliot stood right in front of Blue with his racecar he broke the 220 mph mark in, Blue would challenge him and think he could win.  No one ever took Blue up on his challenge that I know of.  We were all scared that he would either beat us and we would be embarrassed or he would lose, have a heart attack and that would be on our conscious the rest of our lives. 

One evening we came back from fishing and plopped down on the sofa in the camper and turned on the TV.  It was nothing but static.  We mumbled something about the cable bill not being paid then walked outside to see if there was a loose connection.  Upon locating the cable supply box, we noticed a splitter had been installed with the cable to our camper disconnected and lying on the ground.  We followed the newly connected cable up and over the camper, up through a large oak tree, across the top of two other campers, down behind an old wooden boat garage, across the grass, and to….yep, you guessed it, right to Blue’s camper, running through a hole in the window screen.  We could see and hear Blue through the window watching some silly game show and horse laughing loudly.  He was also yelling at his wife to watch.  Normally he yelled at her from outside the camper while she was inside, well beyond her reach. 

One day, while Blue was out at the grocery store, we all sat down together and compared stories and we concluded that in all the years we had known Blue and had visited the fish camp…none of us had ever seen his wife, nor even heard her speak.  We got chill bumps as images from the movie Psycho flashed in our minds, but then we just dismissed it as our exaggerated imagination.

Blue has since passed away, but those memories will always be with me.  Maybe he is in a place where he can yell at his wife and, unfortunately, now she can hear him.  

TEEX Fire School - Then and Now

We leave the Georgia scorching heat on Friday and fly in to Houston Intercontinental Airport where the weather has cooled to a generous 101 degrees.  I grab my rental car and make the 1.5 hour drive over to College Station.  The closer I get to there, the higher the temperature climbs.  It’s now 106.  This is my 21^st year as a guest Instructor at the Fire school and boy has it changed over the years.

I know the drive by heart.  It used to be two lane roads with a maximum speed of 55 mph.  Now there are 4 lanes and a minimum speed of 80 mph (it seems). Twenty two years ago, there were only two hotels in College Station, the Ramada Inn and the Holiday Inn.  Next to the Holiday Inn stood the only restaurant in town, Bennigan’s. Back then the people of Bryan/College Station did not like firemen.  We would come to town, and even though as Industrial firemen we pumped the town with plenty of money to boost their economy, we were treated pretty badly. 

Thank goodness all that has changed and there are numerous restaurants, hotels and lots of friendly people.  It’s almost like home.    

As an Instructor, you registered on Saturday and faced the reality that you probably had to burn your prop that day to “test the waters” (or fire in this case) to anticipate what the students would encounter.  We supplied our own instructors to fuel the props and usually our own maintenance to repair the things that were broken. You waded through mud, rocks, fuel, sweat, and gunk to create a learning environment. After testing your prop, lunchtime rolled around and you sat and ate in the firehouse a catered lunch provided by Dooley-Tackaberry.  I must say, this is one of the best lunches I have ever had; fried catfish, rock shrimp and all the trimmings. And to this day, a new sponsor provides that same lunch annually.  I have often jokingly made the statement that if they ever stopped providing us that lunch, it would be my last year as an instructor.  I’m not so sure I’m joking. 

Monday came quickly and approximately 1500 students participated in the school.  There were about 20 sections of 40-50 students per section.  The instructors would stay all 4 days on the fire field while students alternated days on the field and classroom. I was 28 years old back then and thought nothing of burning huge fires for 8-10 hours a day for 4 days straight.

Most days back then you would have an injury of some sort (not reported, of course).  If you didn’t get burned then you weren’t participating.  I’ve lost eyebrows, half of a mustache, a boot, stickers off my helmet, and a face shield all because of tremendous heat and flames.

I remember one day, I was assigned to take students to the third deck of the prop.  We always ascended the north stairs with the wind in our face.  That meant high pressure propane fires blew directly towards you and attacked you as soon as you topped the stairs.  The heat was unbearable and some students would freeze right there and wouldn’t budge an inch.  As I moved my student team up the stairs past the second deck, and up to the top of the third floor stairs, we held back the roaring fire with our power cone of water while another set of students, hose line, and instructor made their way up behind us to control another leaking flange that roared at our backs.  I curled my water line manned with three students to the right parallel with the handrail. We left members from each hose line at every stairway landing to help feed fire hose up to us.  We started in to make our valve closure but as we got closer to the valve, I noticed my group of 4 students holding the hose line suddenly stop advancing.  I looked back behind me and our back-up hose line was retreating down the stairs.  We were in this alone.  The heat was now really becoming unbearable.  I could feel the pressurized fire behind me TAPPING me on the shoulder.  My students panicked and started to drop the hose line and run.  I had to react quickly or we would all be burnt to a crisp.  I put my arms on each side of the nozzle man and pinned him against the handrail so he had no where to go.  His feet still shuffled quickly although he wasn’t going anywhere.  I looked him directly in his eyes and above all the noise, fire, smoke, and water I yelled “OK, we are here and we are not going anywhere! If we drop this water we will all be badly burned!  I trust you to stay here with me and get us all out of this situation! I need you to hold a water pattern on this flange while I make the valve closure!  Do you understand?!?”  He looked at me with a little more determination in his eyes and said “Yes Sir!”  We adjusted the nozzle pattern to just the right width and he held the water just where it had to be.  I leaned forward, my life in his hands, and closed the valve and the fire went out.  Now we had to make the turn to close the one behind us!  

Those were the good old days. We do much more actual teaching now and much less trying to set the world on fire to put it out.  The school is much better and the knowledge and confidence the students gain is immeasurable.  There are plenty of great friends, great food, good times, and an excellent TEEX staff that makes sure we all have what we need to create the best training environment we can for the students.  I am very happy and proud to be a part of it.

If you have never attended or even visited, put it on your bucket list.  It is an event that you will never forget.

Below are just a few pictures from this year’s (2011) TEEX Industrial Fire School.

The Worst Seats in College Football

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.  Been real busy with work. 

This time of year I really start to get the College Football Fever.  I am reminded of an actual conversation we overheard at a Georgia Football game a few years ago.

The following conversation is real and takes place by an old Codger standing near our tailgate selling two legitimate tickets to a Georgia Bulldogs game. He apparently either had never sold tickets before, or had some sort of shock therapy in the past, or something.

Old Codger:  Hey! I got two tickets right here! For sale!

Potential Buyer #1: Great! How much?

OC: Um, face value.

PB1: Ok, how much is that?

OC: Well, these are not real great seats.

PB1: No problem. How much?

OC: As a matter of fact, they sort of suck.

PB1: Dude! Do you want to sell the tickets or not?

OC: Well…

PB1: Forget it. I’m out of here.

OC: Two tickets for sale right here!

Potential Buyer 2: Hey, how much?

OC: Son, do you know how bad these seats are?

PB2: No sir, but I don’t care.  I need two.  How much?

OC: $40 each.

PB2: Great, I’ll take them.

OC: On second thought, that’s a little high.  They are really bad seats.

PB2: Ok, how much then?

OC: $30 each

PB2: Fine, here’s $60.

OC: You don’t understand, you can’t really see the plays well from these seats.

PB2: I DON’T CARE! I NEED TWO! Take my money!

OC: No, that would be wrong.

PB2: %$##@@! Forget it!

OC: Got two right here.  Who needs two?

Potential Buyer 3: I will take them.  How much you want?

OC: These seats are bad, really bad.  You sit behind the band and you can’t see anything. It's so loud that you...huh? Did you just say something?

PB3: Doesn’t matter sir.  I just need to get in the stadium.  I can sit with friends.

OC:  You actually sit behind a large concrete beam and can’t see a dang thang.

PB3:  Sir, I have been to numerous games here.  There are no concrete pillars in the stadium that you sit behind.

OC: Son, don’t tell me.  I have sat in these seats. I know what I’m talking about.

PB3: Whatever!  How much?

OC: $20 each

PB3: Done!

OC: Even the seats make your butt itch, you will certainly have a rash tomorrow. And there are always gnats flying around your face.  And you can’t get to a bathroom or a concession stand from these seats.  You have to actually go out of the stadium and come back in…

PB3: Have you lost your mind old man?!?

OC: Ok, $15 each.

PB3: Give me the tickets!

OC: I couldn’t, really.  There’s always a large man with a large hat sitting in front of you too.

PB3: SIR! Are those real tickets or are you trying to scam me??

OC: Oh, I assure you sonny, they are real.

PB3: I will give you $30 for the pair! Final deal!

OC: What?  Are you crazy? Are you trying to rip me off? I will call the campus police on you!

We laughed until milk came out of our nose.  And I don’t even drink milk.

  

HAPPY EASTER!

Watch Out, Here Comes the Safety Man!

If you have ever had the responsibility of safety oversight, you have probably overheard the comment “Watch out, here comes the safety man”, wherein all workers quickly put their safety glasses on, tie off to their fall protection, put out their cigarettes, and hide their alcohol.  Of course we all know that “true safety” is doing the right thing and being safe when nobody is watching.  Over my 30 years in industry, in the safety field mostly, I have seen some real stupid people doing some even stupider stuff.  Here are just a few absolutely true examples.

A Safety Manager was touring his plant in South Carolina when he happened upon a package that immediately indicated to him it was a bomb.  He reacted quickly and isolated the area, got people away, and activated his emergency action plan.  Fire Departments, Bomb Squads, and Law Enforcement Officials from all over the state responded to the plant. Numerous precautions were put in place and the package surrounded.  A remote controlled robot armed with a camera, water jets, and bean bags was put on standby ready to mitigate the explosive device.  The Bomb Squad Commander arrived at the Command Post and interviewed the Safety Manager and asked him the burning question “So, what made you suspect this package?”  The Safety Manager replied “It was very evident to me when I saw the box was labeled with large black letters that said ‘BOM’.  The Safety Manager was fired the next day.

A guy I worked with was up working on the roof of his house one day.  Having seen all the safety videos at work, he decided to be safe and use fall protection.  He didn’t have a harness or an anchor point, so he improvised.  Since he was working on the roof on the backside of his house, he took a rope, tied it around his waist, ran it over the peak of the roof, and tied it to the bumper of his pick-up truck in the front of the house.  He actually slipped a couple of times and the rope kept him from falling.  After working about an hour or two up there in the heat, he heard a noise that paralyzed him with fear.  It was the sound of someone starting his truck!  Suddenly, his rope got very tight and wham!..off his feet he went.  With his finger nails digging in the shingles with one hand and desperately grasping to untie the rope with the other hand, he was over the peak in a blink of an eye as his truck pulled out of his driveway.  He flew off the roof, onto the concrete drive, and then was dragged on the asphalt for about 75 yards.  His wife, who had hopped in the truck and headed out for shopping, heard his bloody screams of STOP several times, so she finally did.  He ended up with a broken leg and the worst case of road rash you had ever seen.  Of course, we at work swore his wife did it on purpose.

The moral of the story is - If you ever try this, be sure to apply lock-out/tag-out also by putting all sets of keys to your truck in your pocket.

  

I was overseeing a job at a brick company where a large kiln was being refurbished.  The kiln was about a football field in length, about 50 feet wide, and about 15 feet tall.  A group of workers were replacing the fire brick inside one end, while another group at the other end were working on the concrete roof of the kiln.  It was a routine day with me having to make small safety corrections here and there until I walked past a guy using a jack-hammer on the roof of the kiln.  He was standing in one spot in the middle of the concrete roof, jack-hammering in a circle around himself.  Yep, just like on a bugs bunny cartoon.  So, I quickly yelled for him to stop.  I asked him what in the world was he thinking, to which he replied “what?”  I had to painstakingly explain what would happen when he made a full turn and the concrete gave way.  To which he said “Oh, I guess I would have fell through, huh?”  I said “Yep, fifteen feet below with a jack-hammer and concrete landing on top of you”.

Here are a few other persons acting “no so smart”.  These are actual driver statements taken from police accident reports.

"The accident happened because I had one eye on the car in front of me, one eye on the pedestrian in the crosswalk, and one eye on the car behind me."

"I started to slow down but the traffic was more stationary than I thought."

"I pulled into the emergency lane with smoke coming from under the hood. I realized the car was on fire so I took my dog and smothered it with a blanket."

"I didn't think the speed limit applied after midnight"

"My windshield shattered. Cause unknown. Probably Voodoo."

"The car in front of me hit the pedestrian but he got up so I hit him again"

"I pulled away from the side of the road, glanced at my mother-in-law and headed over the embankment."

"I collided with a stationary truck coming the other way"

"A pedestrian hit me and went under my car"

"Coming home I drove into the wrong house and collided with a tree I don't have."

"I had been driving for forty years when I fell asleep at the wheel and had an accident."

"As I approached an intersection, a stop sign suddenly appeared in a place where no stop sign had ever appeared before."

"I was sure the old fellow would never make it to the other side of the road when I struck him."

"I told the police officer that I was not injured, but after removing my hat, I found that I had a fractured skull."

"And, why did we buy a car that lays giant eggs?"

"You know that new cop lady you think is good looking? 

Well, I think you are about to meter."

It was Carl's turn to be the company speed bump.

"Hey Ralph, this is the conductor, can you see if there is debris in my grill?

I seem to be running hot"

As CSI investigated the Sonic robbery and murder,

 Horatio said they had concrete evidence.

"Judy! Fido finally caught that car he's been chasing,

and now he's trying to bury it in the back-yard!"