I didn't want to forget these stories and if I don't get them down on my blog, I won't remember them past tomorrow.
This morning, a volunteer fireman and a paramedic were in the store at the same time, and did some story telling. True stories, which makes them even funnier.
The first involves a house party up west. The parents were away and the kids decided to have a party, and like unauthorized parties can do, it grew to over 300 kids. Somebody made a 911 call from the house, stating that one of the kids had shortness of breath and chest pains. Because of the size of the party and the number of people involved, the obligatory police presence to a 911 call was increased to three squads of mounties, one squad car from the town's police station, and, of course, the ambulance. They met at the end of the laneway of the house and brainstormed the best way to approach, get through the crowd of teenagers and find their patient without trouble starting. One mountie said, "lets go flying in with sirens blaring and lights flashing, so they know we're coming, and all crouch by our cars with our guns drawn." The town cop said, "What if you get mobbed by 300 kids?" The mountie deadpanned, "I can take out the first six." The paramedics decided that they'd stay behind the ambulance until all of this was over. The funny thing was, though, that when the cop cars went blasting down the farm laneway with sirens screaming and lights flashing, they just didn't find very many people left in the house. Nobody that needed medical attention, either. Lots of empty cars, though.
Yeah, that one was just moderately funny, but I'm still laughing about this one:
A 911 cell call came in from four boaters who had hit a sandbar and were stranded on the Dunk River and suffering from hypothermia. Night was falling so the call was put out to a few municipalities and 60 mounties and volunteer firemen showed up to search. The Dunk is a long, wide, shallow river that runs between a lot of woods, causing the men to slog through a lot of underbrush in the dark, shining lights on the water. A pair of the firemen finally caught sight of the boat, hollered to the occupants and started to wade out in their survival suits, figuring one would have to swim a rope out to the boat. As they got about halfway out, with the water part way up their boots, one said to the other, "This water had better get deep in a fucking hurry or I'm going to kill these guys." The water did get deeper - about four inches. They stood beside the grounded boat and asked the idiots sitting inside, surrounded by empty beer cans, why they hadn't waded to shore. Apparently one of them had rolled out of the boat with that intention, and got right back in, saying the water was up to his neck and it was freezing. The fireman snorted and said, "Yeah, it's up to your neck, all right, when you're lying in it." The other fireman radioed to the rest of the searchers to call off the search and went up to the road where one of the mounties was waiting. After he told the mountie the story, the officer told him to come back down with him, because, "if I go down there myself, I might shoot the fuckers."
I lost some of the humor in these stories, trying to write them down. You lose the nuances in voices and the expressions on faces. Our rural firemen are all volunteers and when a call comes in, they leave their nice warm houses or dinners and rush wherever they're needed, even to rescue four drunken fishermen stranded in about a foot and a half of water. But like policemen and paramedics, they become great storytellers.