Tag Archives: fireman

Hot time

So, this happened.

I worked at home yesterday and had just sat down to eat lunch when someone rang my front door. Assuming it was UPS, I buzzed him in and stepped into my coop’s hallway.

My dog Rory ran ahead to greet my visitor and brought back…

HIM

Okay, not this particular fireman.  The firefighter in my building had black hair and was tragically wearing his shirt uniform.  But still —

He was smoking hot!

I said, “Are we on fire?” and he flashed a perfect smile.

Well, I was.

He explained he was conducting the building’s yearly walk-through, and proceeded to ask some questions about the basement and elevator access while he petted my dog Rory.

To soon, he was on his way.  But my heart was happy.  You see, the firehouse is only one block away.

Rory, it’s time to try a different walk route!

Disco inferno

Did you hear the one about the girls who went to see Shakespeare performed as a soft porn disco show, and then the smoke alarms went off in the theater, so they ended up standing outside in the rain while the firemen saved the day?

That was funny.

Not funny ha-ha…funny strange.  The kind of funny where you find yourself looking around and thinking, “What the fu….?”

I had traveled all afternoon…in the rain…from New York City to Boston.  I dumped my luggage and immediately headed to Harvard Square — in the unseasonably cold wind and semi-snow — to see “The Donkey Show,” a disco version of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer’s Night Dream.”

It looked a bit like you might expect.  Big disco ball.  Polyester-clad disc jockey.  Male dancers in glitter and maniacal grins and little else, swishing about.  A few unidentified costumed fancies who must be disco Shakespeareans.  And lots and lots of forced gaiety.

Then, the smoke alarms sounded.  The house lights came up, exposing the inherent shabbiness of the stage.  The disc jockey was suddenly serious as he directed us out of the nearest exit.  People stopped at coat check — coat check! — when a fire was supposedly raging inside.  (It wasn’t…but still.)

And as we stood in the cold rain, I couldn’t help but notice that everyone had returned to normal in the street.  No strobe lights to inspire sudden hip gyrations.  No Donna Summers anthem to prompt leaping upon tables or railings.  No wood nymph on roller skates to — well, to make you proud not to be starring in disco soft porn.

I almost hitched a ride with the fire department.