Dude, where's my Car?

Although firefighters are innately heroes, their bravery is often balanced with a streak of devilishness which causes them to never pass an opportunity to inflict retribution for any prank or verbal missive directed at them; sometimes alone, sometimes in concert.

The crew of one fire station had a prevalence towards buffoonery and tricks that had caused more than one embarrassing moment to others than just the firefighters therein. Buckets of water, flour, and confetti were just part of the tomfoolery tools engaged during moments of pause and with a priority for inclusiveness, no one was exempt.

It seems that firefighter Bill had been serving out a full measure of trickery for an extended period.  While relentless on his engagements, he always appeared one step ahead of his pursuers.  It was time for some payback, thought his fellow members.

Firefighter Bill drove a beat-up baby blue Volkswagen beetle. Judging by its condition, it may have been driven by Adolph Hitler himself in World War II. He was in the habit of carrying one of every needed possession necessary for life in that car. Hammers, a diving suit, ski poles, a change of clothes and baby diapers, were among the items that could be viewed somewhere and everywhere on the worn upholstery. The exterior had not been cleaned since the day Bill bought the car. Bill’s VW was observed to be parked across the street from the firehouse, a spot the guys called “A1”; why A1 ?, because everyone in the firehouse and anyone on the very busy California Street throughway, wanted that space. 

How ironic that Bill could undeservedly end up with the primo, A1, parking space that day. The inhumanity! In the minds of his beleaguered colleagues, this fact alone underscored the opportunity and necessity for a long-deserved retribution. Firefighters can be quick thinkers; they have to be in a profession that calls for it.

A plan was quickly hatched; the group decided that when Bill’s company was dispatched, or left quarters, they would go into action. There were some vacant, enclosed parking spaces beneath an apartment building adjacent to the firehouse. Those parking spaces had been rented by some firefighters. Some were currently vacant because some firefighters were on vacation or were not currently being used and were perfect, out of sight relocation, for old blue. At last, an opportunity presented itself. Bill’s company was dispatched. A floor jack (a lift used by mechanics to change tires or move vehicles) was summoned from the tool room. A crew of five raced across busy California Street and slipped the floor jack under the rear wheels of ‘battered blue’. In no time, the pranksters wiggled “Hitler’s Revenge” from parking spot A1; they rushed across the busy street into a vacant space in the enclosed garage next to the firehouse.

The stage was set; Firefighter Bill’s company would return from their dispatch and he would notice that his blue VW parked in A1 was gone! It was like a Hollywood movie, here comes the rig (firefighter term for vehicle) driving up to the firehouse, Firefighter Bill aboard. Now they’re backing into the firehouse, closing the apparatus door to the firehouse; but there was no reaction. “What a nut job, Bill didn’t even notice that his car was gone!” complained the crew. “Well, he’s sure to notice sometime during the day,” remarked several perpetrators positioned on prominent directors chairs on the sidewalk.

That’s the way it went, all day and into the night. The evil doers were waiting for Bill to notice that the blue disaster was missing. “Well,” suggested one of the members, “he’s sure to notice when he leaves for home in the morning.”

The next morning the crew was like coyotes around a rabbit den waiting for Firefighter Bill to take his coffee and head for the hills with beat-up blue. “See you jerks next watch (a term for 24 hours of duty).” proclaimed Bill. They waited.  Nothing happened. They got up to look; again nothing happened, Bill didn’t return. “Well’, remarked one of the geniuses, “he’s so dumb, that he probably didn’t remember that he drove his car to work yesterday and is taking the bus home. Wait until he gets home and can’t find his car”.

Bill was gone for over an hour and there was no phone call or any other indication that Bill had recognized that he was missing old blue. There was nothing. The pranksters were perplexed and confused.

At 9:30 am the firehouse doorbell rang.  A couple of the crew members walked to the door and greeted a civilian who seemed to be in distress. “Can we help you?”  asked the firefighters. “Well, I don’t know how to say this but someone stole my Volkswagen Beetle. I can’t believe that anyone would steal that piece of blue crap”.

“Well, where did you park it?” asked one of the suddenly concerned crew members. “Right across the street from the firehouse. I parked right there.” replied the citizen as he pointed to parking spot A1.

The crew was crestfallen, ashamed, embarrassed and guilty. They had taken the wrong car.  Since this was  in the days before cell phones, the unwitting citizen was invited into the firehouse to make a telephone call to the police in order to report the incident.

Thinking quickly, the firefighter pranksters entertained the offended citizen with gallons of coffee, fresh baked goods and anything that would keep him in the confines of the firehouse while a rectification of the situation became the utmost priority. Two members would occupy the citizen while five more would retrieve the wrongly pilfered vehicle stored in the adjacent garage. In an unusual moment of good fortune, the coveted A1 spot was occupied by an on-duty crew member who would happily vacate A1 to right a wrong, and a car jack wouldn’t even be necessary. Readying the car jack under old blue, the firefighters pushed and pulled the blue wreck from its previous position back into A1, from the apartment building garage while dodging commuters and buses across a busy California Street.

In the firehouse, the waiting would continue and idle chit chat would necessarily ensue, occupying the poor citizen who had called the police to report, he thinks, his missing property. Again the doorbell rang. This time it was the police. They were escorted into the firehouse and asked the citizen what the nature of the problem was. The citizen reported that his beat-up Volkswagen was stolen from a location in front of the apartment he had moved into. After taking information for the report, the citizen, police and suddenly demur firefighters stepped out to the sidewalk in front of the firehouse. “Ok,” said one officer, “just where was this hunk of junk parked?” The citizen still perplexed as to why anyone would want it, pointed to where he had parked.   “VIOLA” there it was. Miraculously, the rusted, blue carriage had returned to its previous location.

Suddenly there was stuttering by the citizen, downcast eyes by the firefighters and questioning looks towards the firehouse crew by the police.

There was no problem here.

All parties left in separate directions. The citizen was questioning his own well-being and mental fitness. The firefighters were wiping off sweaty brows and wondering just who the stupid one was. The police walked off appreciating the obvious sleight of hand, pulled by the firefighters and wished they had taken the firefighter job.

Firefighter Bill, had no idea that any of this had taken place as he loaded another necessary item into battered blue