Forgive the trite title of this post. I simply felt the need to pay homage to all the first-time programs that printed simply that. I feel like I’ve been stuck in the middle of some kind of hellish computer test, wrestling with domains, hosting accounts, transfer authorizations, etc. The goal is to have my blog mapped to my www.raisingladders.com domain, but at least I’ve got some time before I have to do that.
You see, I’m not yet a firefighter. Hell, I’m not yet even a firefighter-in-training. I’m a waiter. (Oh, the cliche! Boy moves to big city, seeks good job, waits tables until his “big break” comes along. I think I just threw up in my mouth a bit.)
Allow me to elaborate: I’m a nationally-registered paramedic. I’ve been certified for a year and a half, and I’ve worked as a medic for a year and change in Pittsburgh (where I went to college). I decided that Pittsburgh wasn’t the city for me, post-college at least, and moved to Washington in July. I had found out that the DC Fire Department was hiring paramedics, turning them into firefighters, and placing them on fire engines around the city as “dual-role” providers. So, here I am, waiting for the red tape of city government to become untangled and let me start the job I want. But as I mentioned, I’m waiting tables to get by for now.
It’s not a terrible job, but I have to say I’m much more suited to serving those in need, rather than those who want. I enjoy helping, but I hate kissing ass.
It used to be that we could yell at the junkies who tried to punch us. We, as a two-partner team, could slam doors, crack jokes, try desperately to hold back smiles and guffaws as the 91-year-old woman in front of us demanded that she speak to her mother immediately, or she’d have us both deported to France via her magical bathtub.
Alas, for right now it’s all smiles and “yes, sir”, “why certainly, ma’am!” Don’t get me wrong, though; the food is good and my coworkers are fun—but I’m eagerly awaiting the end of October, which is when my class at the fire academy should be starting.
And that’s when the real good stuff starts to flow. For now, I’ll try to satiate with some stories from the past, or even just some curious musings. Life is a whole lot more interesting living within the city, but only if captured in the right light.