Welcome to the Family

One of the deputy state fire marshals is waiting at the front of the room in, preparing a Power Point presentation on the use of explosives for rescue and demolition appilications. He's a chubby guy with graying hair and the shoulders of a former gym rat. Make no mistake about it, even though he's pushing 60 he still could probably drag a hose or throw you over his shoulder in full gear. He's a cherry looking guy with a white uniform shirt and two pagers on his belt. The other guy is dressed in SWAT pants and a sweatshirt with a denim collar and elbow patches. A massive Glock on sits on his hip next to his badge. Stencilling on his shirt identifies him as a member of the Fire Marshal's Office Bomb Squad. He's a young guy with a crew cut and the body of an ox.
As the two instructors set out their teaching aids-- det chord, primer chord, dummy C4 and gelignite, sizemographs and an assortment of non-sparking hand tools-- twenty or so firefighters from Holden and Clinton file into the room, hands are shook, pagers turned down but never off. Brght orange packets make their way around the room as I take my seat.
Dave, a firefighter EMT I work with in Holden looks up at me and says "Get me some coffee, rookie biatch," in a goofy voice. We try to ignore the blare of the movie playing in the adjacent room, since we're in a senior center we assume it's half deaf patrons are just about getting ready to head home to bed.
The presentation started off with a lukewarm safety lecture, basically don't smoke or play with an open flame around the explosives. From there we moved on to how to set up sizemograph meters to measure the intensity of a planned explosion. Basically you dig a hole and bury the unit or sandbag the hell out of it to protect it from any flying debris known as flyrock. The deputy marshal is in his element, going on and on about all the techno gizmos on the meter while the bomb squad guy picks at his nails. We learn how to propperly store and care for explosives, how to build the reinforced boxes and truck compartments to store them in. Over and over we are told "NEVER KEEP DETONATORS AND EXPLOSIVES IN THE SAME COMPARTMENT!" No shit though, right?
When the bomb squad guy gets up to tell us how to rig and render safe all of the equipment, we all sit up a bit, this is why we're here. The other stuff was just window dressing. He runs through how to rig the primer chord to the det chord and the det chord to the detonator and the detanator to the explosive. We use non electric detanors so it is safe, though not preferable, to leave all radios and pagers on during use. Basic safety precaution has everyone turn off their radio but when you're trying to blow a dam to alleviate stress from a mudslide or start a controlled avalanche, its a good idea to keep in touch with the rest of your crew. We learn how to jury rig a detonator out of batteries and how to diffuse our new creations.
All around MacGyver shit.
Afterwards we head out to Wong's Bar for beers and to rehash how much we don't like certain firefighters and members of the department. I'm told I'm the only recruit to ever be invited to an after drill party. I wear that honor proudly while trying not to show it. When I finish my Tsing Tao beer I realize that I only had enough cash for one.
When the waitress comes to replenish drinks I tell her I'm all set but Mike speaks up. "No he's not, I got his, and any food he wants." I tell him that its okay but his only reply is, "Bullshit, no one comes out with us and has just one drink let alone goes hungry." I take the drink but decline the food, not wanting to come off as a jerk.
Soon I get a plate of fried pork strips pushed my way. Jackie, the only woman of the group tells me to eat or she'll kick my ass. I devour a few handfulls of the meat while a group of skin heads with safety pins in their eyebrows and leather jackets saunters into our private room. They're loud and trying to make asses out of themselves but when they see the twelve of us they shut right up and leave after their complimentary tea.
The deputy chief invites me to join his squad for the upcoming firemen's muster, telling me, "We need a young guy to be the workhorse, you seem built for it." After three years of powerlifting I have more than enough brute force to drag a horse or a dummy in full gear.
When the bill comes I take out my last five bucks and promise Mike a drink next time we go out. He just waves his hand and says "Ehhhh, we're brothers now." Jackie downs whats left of her Mai Tai and says "Welcome to the family."