Havoc was wrought: Play Group tours the fire station

     This morning, approximately ten toddlers of the Hillside Ward Playgroup (of which Clara and I are proud members), along with their grandparents or parents, swarmed the City of Boise Fire Station #9 for a tour.
     The firefighters were remarkably composed in the midst of the toddler melee.
     They showed us the austere room where they slept: hospital-like twin beds with bare mattresses surrounded by heavy privacy curtains (the beds looked super inviting to me-- a sign that I may be sleep-deprived.)  They showed us a room with recliners and a TV where they relax, their work-out room, and their kitchen (which, I jealously noted, was in many respects cleaner than mine).
     Then they brought us out to the garage to look at the trucks.  Initial response to the trucks was mostly positive, and sometimes extremely positive:

(Note: Colton, above, is most likely smiling.  His posture appears tense owing to the fact that he's trying to see out of the eyeholes of his Batman costume.  He has been wearing the costume for several days, ever since a relative gave it to him.)
     The firemen gave us some information and answered questions.  For example, if you have a sticker on your window saying you'd like your pets rescued, the firefighters will rescue you first, and then go back for your pets.  What a relief.  I don't know what I'd do if some fireman saved Wilbur the dog before me.
     There are two engines at Station 9: one for the city, and one that's used only for brush fires.  The diameter of the trucks' exhaust pipes is probably only a little smaller than a dinner plate.  When you turn on a firetruck, one of the firefighters explained, the diesel engine pushes out billowing black smoke.  It used to fill up the garage and put an inches-thick layer of soot on the walls. So now the firefighters hook a big hose to the exhaust pipe and it vents all the fumes outside.  The ventilation hose runs on a sliding track and is also really, really fun to play with.

The firefighters let everyone climb on the engine.

And then, oh glory be, they let everyone sit in the firetruck driver's seat.  It was almost more than Clara could digest.  She has always wanted to drive a real car.  I'm sure the driver's seat of our Toyota paled in comparison to this one:

     It turns out the firetruck starts by pushing a button rather than using a key. Someone worried that might make it easy to steal.  Well, firetrucks don't corner well, and they don't go very fast, one of the firefighters pointed out.  Plus, you'd be pretty conspicuous driving a firetruck.  
     Also, firefighters don't push each other or yell, "Shut-gun!" or fight over who gets to drive as they run to the trucks.  Each man has a permanent position.  You have to go through an interview process and get a promotion to be the driver.
     The firefighters assured me that they would thoroughly investigate the rig after we'd left, and un-push all buttons pushed by dimpled toddler fingers.
     After everyone had a chance to sit in the driver's seat, one of the firemen took us aside and put on his fire gear. Along with bulky pants, boots, coat and gloves, he put on a weird, medievel-looking hood and his gas mask. He said he wanted us to not be scared if we were ever in a house fire and saw a fireman crawling towards us on the floor.  The response to the gas-masked fireman was almost universal trepidation:

     And who could blame the kids?  He looked like a giant insect with Darth Vader breath.  I'm not so sure I myself wouldn't whack him with the nearest heavy object if he came at me during a fire.
     Shar ran to her dad to be comforted.  Clara found herself in the unfortunate position of having to pass by the gas-masked firefighter to get to me.  She made several attempts, the sheer baby terror on her face dawning afresh each time she rounded the side of his body and looked at his face.  Finally another mother grabbed her and brought her, rigid with fear, to me.  
     After the fireman took off his fire gear, he brought us outside and gave the kids stickers and fire hats.  One of the mothers, Ericka, brought homemade brownies.