Dave Jensen is my best friend and has been since high school. Right after high school, we both knew we wanted to be firefighters and signed up at a local tech school and enrolled in their fire science program. We did everything together and hoped we’d be assigned to the same firehouse after graduation. Luck was on our side when the assignments came in. We haven’t always worked the same shift, but for the last year or so, we’ve been on the same rotation, which makes things easier for me. I trust my team, my squad, but there’s nothing like having your best friend fight fires right alongside of you. It gives you a sense of protection and duty. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for the station house, but I’d lay my life down for Jensen.
He finally stands and I pat him on the back. “What’s next?” I ask, fully expecting him to have a list taped to the inside of his locker.
“Weightlifting?”
“Nah, too easy,” I say as I flex my arm. I’m ripped and toned, but not like those guys who gorge out their muscles. It’s just not for me and doesn’t really work with the job we have. I need to be flexible and fast.
Jensen ponders, or at least pretends to, and does so until our captain tells us to report to our conference room. I detour and hit the kitchen first and grab a bottle of water and chug most of it before I get to the room.
Our conference room is set up like a classroom with those desk/chair combo things. The seats are uncomfortable, and the room set up is odd as fuck, but whatever. We don’t have assigned seats, so I take one in the back. I man spread and lean back. Our captain is at the front of the room, looking over each of us. I have no idea what he’s going to talk about, but my mind is spinning. We’ve had a few fires the last couple of days. More car accidents this week than last. And of course, every other day there’s a call about someone’s kitty stuck in a tree. We don’t respond to those. We did it once because we felt sorry for the elderly lady but Chuck, one of the guys on another shift, fell out of the fucking tree and shattered his femur. The cat hissed at him, swatted his forehead and connected, leaving a scratch across his head, which became infected. Chuck fell about twenty feet and was lucky he didn’t break his back. After that, Chief said no more. Honestly, I’m happy with the new rule. However, on the other hand, it seems that when we’d respond to a call, all the women in the neighborhood would come out and objectify us. I kind of like that part of the job. I work hard to keep my body in shape, might as well let people look.
Captain clears his throat and stands tall. He’s about five foot five, but his machismo attitude makes him seem at least six foot. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. The guy used to be some jiujitsu fighter when he was a teenager. It’s those squirrely guys you have to watch out for.
“About a month ago, Officer Don Hoar invited you all to fill out the application for the new reality show A Date for the Hunt, where you go to Aruba for two weeks. The producers spent a couple days here, helping you fill out the application,” Captain mumbles. I remember when the people from the show came to the station and asked us to sign up. Not my thing, but Jensen dared me, so of course I signed up. Although, sitting here, I’m wondering if I put down the correct information or if I exaggerated on anything. Officer Hoar, he’s all about reality television and is always trying out for Big Brother and the Amazing Race. He’s yet to make it past the initial application round but seemed confident he had this one in the bag. Which makes it odd that Captain is talking about it during our shift since Hoar isn’t even here.
“Where’s Hoar?” Lenny Baker, another firefighter yells.
“With the producers,” Captain says.
“That fucker finally made it onto a reality show?” I ask aloud. The guys around me snicker, but it’s the women on our crew who chuckle.
“Bryant,” the captain drags my name out.
“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to fall in love with him, Let alone spend two weeks with him,” Rosie Keiper says. Everyone assumes she and Hoar had a thing but neither have ever come out and said. One day, they’re acting like their best friends. The next, Rosie is hosing him down in one of the bays.
Hoar finally walks in. Normally, he looks like a smug son-of-a-bitch but today he looks like his mother took away his sirens. He sits down in front and the producers we met a month or so ago stand by Cap.
“I’m sure you all remember me. If not, I’m Jeremy Wilhelm. I work for Dun Production and am one of the producers of A Date for the Hunt, which you graciously filled out an application for. We thank you.” He pauses and looks at each of us. “As you remember we are taking ten single men and women to Aruba for two weeks. The concept is simple. Each woman will hide an Easter egg and the men will hunt for them.
