First Responders

I've only been in a panic situation once.

It almost killed me.

It was way back in college and I was working hard to impress a girl. She spent Friday night studying at her apartment and I went out drinking.

(I wasn't very good at impressing pretty girls).

When I got to her apartment I was a little wobbly and she was a little irritated, but I thought I was entertaining.

Anywhoha...

"Do you smell smoke?" she asked.

I went to the hallway and there was a good degree of smoke coming out from underneath the door next door.

"Oh, my God!" she wailed. "I don't know if they're home or not."

I had a regular damsel in distress situation going on. I knew what to do. It was my time to shine.

I lined it up and slammed my shoulder into the door.

I crumpled to the floor, whimpering in pain and rolling around.

Thankfully, another drunk buddy came by.

Together we hammered the door, and knocked it off its hinges. The smoke came billowing out.

I was coughing and choking and crawling on the floor. I didn't make it three feet into the apartment.

And it's a good thing I didn't.

It turns out that one of the residents had left a curling iron on the bed and the resultant fire did a lot of damage. I think I was still on the floor in a drunken, coughing heap when the firemen arrived.

They actually were able to respond and take control.

I wasn't the hero I thought I could've been and every day since I've looked at fire differently. It had actually scared me.

I thought of all that on Monday morning when I heard about the tragic fire that killed 19 real brave guys.

That's just brutal.

May God be with their families.

May the rest of us value the true first-responders.

By the way, I'm still friends with the pretty girl.

She must still laugh a little at my attempt to impress her.

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