Lame

We just got our shiny new pagers, and a big lecture to go with them.

"This is for the purpose of learning," The instructor says. "You can now hear calls as they come out, and you can practice figuring out where to go. Now, this part is important: You may not go. You are NOT clear to run calls. If any one of you, as a recruit, actually shows up on the fire-ground, then you will quickly end up having a short conversation in the Chief's office that will end with you handing over your turnouts and you being off the district. I promise. We may cut you a little slack if there's a call right next door to you and you look out the window, but don't you DARE come outside. Are there any questions about this?"

There weren't, and I happily have been listening to my pager for the last two days, enjoying the stream of knowledge flowing to my belt. Until just now. Here I am sitting in my house with my wife at 1504 [My Street], and what do I hear?

"Bebebebebebebebebebebebebebebebebeeep: Engine 1401, Truck 806, Delta Response 1414 [My Street]. Be advised, you are responding to a 10-year old male, experiencing seizures, concious, but not responding. Labored breathing."

Come on. Come ON! I'm right HERE! and I can't even leave my house. Lame. LAME!

But that's the rules, and I can't break 'em. As a small condolance, my brother and a friend (a groomsman from my wedding, actually) stopped by after the call to talk with me (basically to make fun of me for not being able to go). I opened the door and smiled, about to greet them:

"Bebebebebebebebebebebebebebebebebeeep: Engine 801, Engine 1501, Residential Structure Fire"

LAME!!!!!!!!!!!!