Ode to the pole
It’s been two years now and I can’t imagine ever getting sick of the pole. The bells go down and I shoot up from my seat and run to the polehouse. With one hand I reach up to release the latch, kick the left door open, lean into the right one with my shoulder and down I go, two storeys descended in a second and a half. I’m always shocked by people that don’t use it. The driver and watch person (the firefighter assigned to be a kind of secretary for the shift) have to go to the teleprinter to see what we’ve got and where we’re going. But plenty of others habitually neglect the pole in favour of...