I didn’t even get an interview.
I had the blessing of the chief to apply for the inspector position, but until the final decision was made, I couldn’t really ask him about what I need to do to move up.
When we finally sat down, the answer should have been obvious, but I was still surprised when I heard it.
“There’s no question you’re a good guy and a great firefighter.” Chief shoved the reading glasses off his face and dropped my résumé and list of career accomplishments on his desk. “You know how in-demand these jobs are. Every firefighter in the state would love to move to a place like Star Falls for a six-figure job working investigations. Every time we post an opening, we get more candidates than we can possibly imagine.” Chief pointed at me with a single finger. “How many you think applied for the job you wanted? Throw out a number.”
I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t know, a hundred.”
Chief blew air out from between his lips. “V, we had almost two thousand applications come in. Two thousand. We had guys applying from as far as New York and Alaska.”
“Two thousand applicants…” I repeated in disbelief.
I knew that the hiring process was often political and came down to who you knew and who knew you, but shit, with that many people, I can understand why I wasn’t even interviewed. I couldn’t compete with that many guys. A job I’d thought I’d be perfect for, but I was never, ever close to being considered, let alone close to getting it.
“Vito, some of those guys had PhDs. P-h-fucking-Ds.” He raised his silver brows and sighed. “Incredible on paper, great references. At this level, the quality of the careers is next level.” He met my eyes and shrugged. “It’s like anything else. I don’t think a piece of paper from a college makes a bit of difference to whether or not I want you in my company. But it’s a box the powers that be can check, and it makes the process a lot simpler.”
A box they can check.
Four years of somebody’s life, maybe more, for the education, not to mention the money, the cost. And for what? After taking some classes on dead poets and basic math, some dickhead with a degree is a more attractive candidate than me after fourteen years on the job?
Even as my gut burned with frustration, I knew Chief was giving it to me straight. There are no undereducated firefighters getting inspector and captain positions. It’s the guys who have the time in I doandthe piece of damn paper to back it up who are edging me out time and time again.
The meeting we had was all the confirmation I needed. I had no path forward in my career.
I’m thirty-four years old, and the one thing holding me back from moving ahead in my career is a damn college degree.
But that’s the reason I’ve spent some of my time on my days off trolling the internet, reading up on local colleges. When I look at the courses that are offered, the application process, the requirements to get in, and then the courses I’d have to take, it sends me off into a funk that has me questioning everything.
I slam the lid of my laptop down a little too hard and check the time. It’s almost sunrise, and I’ve got two hours until my next shift starts.
I tug on a T-shirt and slide into my house shoes before quietly heading down the stairs since Ma and Pops are still asleep.
When Gracie lived here, she didn’t start work until after noon, and I had early mornings completely to myself. Now that Pops is retired, he’s eased off his sleep schedule. Most of the days I’m on shift, I have coffee with Pops before I head out. It’s an oddly comforting routine.
I try not to spend a lot of time thinking about it, but the reality is that every time I get in my truck and go to work, it could be the last time I see my family.
Star Falls is a small town, but there are enough smells and bells to keep our department hopping. Smells being anything from someone thinking they smell gas to smelling actual smoke, and bells meaning everything you could imagine. Falls at nursing homes, home alarms, smoke detectors going off because somebody thought cooking a pizza in a toaster was a thing.
And of course, we see our share of horrific stuff. Accidents. Injuries. Fatalities. Homes destroyed. Precious possessions lost.
Most people spend their lives running from danger and scary shit. When you’re a first responder, I don’t care what kind, the only way to do the job is to get up close with the stuff that gives other people nightmares.
Staring into the soot that covers the windows of a burning business. Crawling along the floor of a hallway thick with smoke. I’ve carried kids out of car wrecks with broken bones and injuries that haunted me for months. Wiped the debris off the face of an old lady who couldn’t escape her apartment before the floor of her kitchen collapsed beneath her walker. I’ve smelled things and seen things most people will live their whole lives and never even think about.
After Michelle divorced me, I moved back home. I was heartbroken and never considered living on my own. I don’t know why. A lot of guys lose their wives and relationships because of the stresses of the job, but for me, I need the routine of my family. The fact that no matter what I’ve seen during the shift, no matter how ugly and awful, the world I love and trust keeps spinning.
When I was married to Michelle, I desperately needed that innocence. I needed to know that I could come home to my wife, and she’d be there wanting me to watch some dumb-ass show while we argued over whether to get pepperoni on the whole pizza or only half.
I needed a strong family to anchor me to something that felt stable and real. When that ended, I went back home and never considered living anywhere else. Living under my parents’ roof may be a massive strain on my dating life, but I don’t think I could keep doing this work without some normal, non-fire-related life to go back to.
There are guys in my company who come from generations of firefighters. Guys whose dads and grandfathers and, in some cases, wives and mothers made careers in the fire service. I think they get a lot out of having people who understand the unpredictable schedule, the wrecked sleep, the hours, and the physical toll of the work.
But not me.
When I leave work, I switch off as much as I can. I’m never not a firefighter, but it’s sometimes nice just to be Vito Bianchi, middle child, lost in the noise of my life outside of work.
When I head downstairs, I’m a little disappointed that Pops isn’t up. Sometimes he surprises me by sneaking down when I’m in the shower or even before I’m awake. But nobody is sipping coffee or reading the paper at the table. I smell the coffee that I brewed before I jumped in the shower, and I pet the dogs who are so old now, they don’t do much more than give me a one-eyed glare before going back to sleep.
