By Ross
The A-Shift crew of L.A. County Fire Station 51 had been toned out to assist Battalion 14 and Truck 123 with a structure fire, at around midnight. The exhausted firefighters didn’t make it back to quarters until nearly four a.m..
Captain Hank Stanley, and the rest of his washed-up men, dragged themselves into their dorm and began sliding suspenders from their sagging shoulders.
“Lights out in two!” Stanley told his dog-tired crew.
John Gage noticed that someone had placed a magazine upon his bedspread. He recognized the periodical’s owner by its unique size. “Chet, what is your Readers Digest doing on my bunk?”
Chet Kelly was in the process of setting up his bunkers. “I wanted to make sure you would read the article on page 98.”
His curiosity piqued, the paramedic picked the periodical up and began flipping through its pages. “Pneumonia is Still a Killer,” he read aloud. John rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine back to its owner.
Kelly caught it. “Aren’t you interested in what they have to say?”
“What do THEY know?” Gage asked right back.
Roy DeSoto finished setting up the bottom half of his bunkers. He tossed his blankets back and plopped down on his bed. “THEY?” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You mean, those nameless little experts on anything and everything?” He crawled beneath his covers and gazed blearily up at the ceiling. “THEY say, they know everything.”
The guys grinned.
“THEY say, you can’t judge a book by its cover,” Kelly added, getting into the light-hearted swing of things. That said, he tossed his Readers Digest back onto his buddy’s bunk.
“THEY say, you can’t believe everything you read,” the paramedic countered and promptly whipped the periodical back across the aisle.
Marco Lopez caught the devious gleam in Chet’s eyes. “THEY say, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Mike Stoker buried himself beneath his blankets. “THEY say, beauty is only skin deep.”
DeSoto snuggled down in his comfortable bed and closed his eyes. “THEY say, the way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach.”
Gage finally got the bottom half of his turnouts all set up. “THEY say, it’s always darkest before the dawn,” the groggy fireman contributed, before falling exhaustedly back onto his bunk.
The dorm lights went out.
“THEY say,” Hank Stanley announced—er, warned, “that, after the Captain orders ‘lights out’, those—who are caught talking—get to sleep in the garage. An' you wanna know something? THEY’re right!”
For, no one said another word.
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May Picture 2008 Stories by Ross
