CHET'S BAD DAY
Chet glanced at his watch as he pulled into the station parking lot. Ten minutes late. The Captain was gonna kill him. And Gage would never let him live this down.
He locked his car and hurried into the building. He was breathless by the time he got to the kitchen. Everyone looked up as he ran through the door. "Sorry I'm late, Cap."
"Nice of you to join us, Chet." Johnny teased.
"Stuff it, Johnny. I'm not in the mood."
Captain Stanley took a sip of his coffee. "So, what happened, Chet?"
Chet poured himself a cup of coffee. "I forgot to set my alarm last night, so I woke up late. Then I had to sew two buttons onto my uniform shirt. And to top it off, my battery was dead. This just hasn't been my day." Putting the cup up to his mouth, Chet proceeded to spill coffee down the front of his shirt. "Oh, Man!" Grabbing several paper towels, he tried to wipe up the mess, but it was no use.
The Captain sighed loudly. "Have you got another shirt in your locker, Chet?"
"I think so, Cap."
"Well, hurry up and change." Chet nodded and headed towards the locker room.
John Gage chuckled softly as Chet left the room, and the other firefighters tried to contain their grins. Usually, it was Chet doing the laughing, not being laughed at. It was a change to see the man so flustered.
Chet came back into the kitchen a few minutes later wearing a clean shirt. He grabbed another cup of coffee, ignoring Gage's comment of "Like a bib this time, Chet?" He went over and sat down on the couch next to Henry, the station's mascot. Much to everyone's amazement, including Johnny's, Henry growled at Chet, got down from the couch and padded silently out of the room.
Chet groaned. "Now even Henry's mad at me. What's the title of this episode, anyway? 'Let's-pick-on-Chet Day?'"
(ACTUALLY, IT'S CALLED 'CHET'S BAD DAY')
Chet looked around the room. "Who was that?"
"That was the writer." Mike Stoker answered.
"The writer? You don't mean..."
Mike nodded. "That's right. We're in a fanfic."
"Cool!" Johnny said. "I like these fanfic stories. Who's the writer. Is it Charli? I like her stories. At least I don't get hurt all the time, like on the show."
"Well, I hope it's Tangee," Roy claimed. "She's *my* favorite writer."
"Gee, Roy, that wouldn't happen to be because you're her favorite character, now would it?" Captain Stanley asked sarcastically.
Roy shrugged his shoulders, grinning sheepishly. "Well, we haven't heard from her in awhile. What with the problems with her computer, and her daughter, Krystina, getting the chicken pox, she's kinda had her hands full. I miss her stories."
It was Mike who answered Johnny's original question. "Actually, this lady's a fairly new writer. Her name is Andi, and she's Charli's sister."
Chet buried his head in his hands and groaned. "Oh, no. You mean there's two of them?"
(YOU WANT TO BE HANGING HOSES IN *ALL* MY STORIES FOR THE NEXT FIVE YEARS? EVEN THE HIGHLANDER ONES?)
"Gee, Chet, try to antagonize the writer a little more, why don't you?" Johnny said.
Chet looked up at Captain Stanley. "Sir, please don't make me go out on any calls. Can't I just stay here and hide under my bunk until this story is over?"
The Captain shook his head, and glanced at Chet sympathetically. "Sorry, Chet, but we all have to take our chances with these fanfiction writers. They're in control here, not me. They even tell the Chief what to do."
Johnny suddenly grinned. "Well, we know that Chet's not Andi's favorite character. I wonder who is?"
Just then, Marco, who had been sitting quietly at the kitchen table, scratching off his lottery ticket, jumped up and let out a loud
"Whoopee! I just won a thousand bucks!"
The firefighters looked at one another. That answered *that* question.
Suddenly, the klaxons sounded through the bay. All the firefighters raced to their vehicles as the dispatcher sounded the alarm.
"Station 51. Building fire, 253 Evans Road. 2-5-3 Evans Road. Cross street, Juniper. Time out-9:25."
Captain Stanley answered as he wrote down the information, and handed the slip of paper to Roy. Then he headed over to the engine. The bay doors went up, and both vehicles drove out of sight.
Henry watched until the doors went down again, then headed into the kitchen towards his food dish. There, instead of his normal kibbles, he found a nice steak.
(GOOD JOB, HENRY.)
Wagging his tail, the dog devoured his treat.
When the squad and engine pulled up to the 2-story office building, they noticed smoke coming out of one of the windows on the second floor. The sidewalk was full of people, which was normal. But these people all had notebooks and were busy scribbling, pointing at the firefighters, and murmuring amongst themselves.
Captain Stanley quickly sent Marco and Chet in to fight the fire. Roy and Johnny looked around the milling crowd, watching everyone watch them. Then Roy nudged Johnny, and motioned over to a group that wasn't. There, sitting on the grass, a woman sat staring wistfully up at the room where smoke was pouring out the open window. Tears were streaming down her face. On either side of her, trying to console her, were two other women, patting her on the shoulder. Johnny and Roy headed over.
Johnny set down his equipment box, checking for injuries. "Ladies, are you all alright? Is anyone injured?"
Before either of the ladies could answer, Captain Stanley came up. "Well, that wasn't too bad. Small fire, contained in the one room.
Everyone OK here?"
The woman on the ground looked up at Captain Stanley, hope in her eyes. "Small? Is the computer okay?"
Captain Stanley shook his head solemnly. "Sorry, the computer's fried." He was unprepared for the wail of anguish the woman let out. "I'm sure your insurance will cover the damage. The room suffered very little."
The woman only cried that much harder. "Who cares about the room? MY STORY WAS IN THAT BLASTED COMPUTER!!
I've lost everything." She buried her face in her hands, sobbing harder.
"Now, Deb, you made a backup, didn't you?" one of her friends asked, trying to be helpful.
Deb shook her head. "I was on such a roll with this seven-alarm blaze, that I didn't want to stop. I've lost the entire story, Tangee.
Now I have to start all over."
"Deb, c'mon on, it happens to all of us. Charli and I will help you, promise."
Captain Stanley was a bit slow to catch on. "Sorry, I'm afraid you've lost me. What's all this about a seven-alarm blaze?"
The woman named Charli answered. "She'd been working on that story all morning. It was going really well. Deb was going along so fast, that I guess she shorted out the system. Then the whole thing caught fire."
"Wait," Johnny interrupted. "Stories, Charli, Tangee, Deb? You're not...I'm mean...are you....?"
Charli grinned, then motioned to a sign proudly displayed on the building. It read "EFFI Headquarters."
Captain Stanley shook his head. "I still don't get it. What's EFFI stand for?"
"Emergency FanFiction International, at your service." Charli pulled a now-quiet Deb up from the ground, while Tangee continued to sit there, staring soulfully up at Roy.
"WOW!" Johhny breathed in awe. "You're our writers! Can I have your autographs? Roy, where's my camera? I gotta get pictures."
Roy ignored his partner, and looked at the woman still sitting on the ground. "So, you're Tangee Taylor. It's a pleasure to finally be able to meet you. How is Krystina doing after her bout with the chicken pox?"
Tangee smiled up at him. "If I say we have to be quarantined, would you come over and stay with me...uhh, I mean, us?" Roy chuckled.
Captain Stanley called to Chet, Marco and Mike, who were still finishing up at the engine, and waved them over. Roy was hugging the stuffing out of one woman, and Johnny was down on his knees, bowing before the other two in abject worship. Johnny quickly introduced the guys to the three women. "Tangee Taylor, Deb Flint and..." he paused, then said breathlessly, "and Charli Charleville."
Johnny was gazing at Charli like a kid gazes at an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.
Once the entire crew had been introduced, Chet kept glancing over his shoulder, as if waiting for the sky to come falling down on him. As he stepped in a pile somehow missed by some pet owner's scooper, his shoulders slumped. He shook his head, chanting to himself, "I'm never going to give the writers grief again, I'm never going to give the writers grief again." Then, out of nowhere, the other writers, who until now had simply been taking notes, all chorused, "We'll hold you to that, Chet!"
Several days, later, things hadn't gotten much better for Chet. He felt like he was all thumbs. He mournfully looked into the pot of chili he had simmering on the stove. He wasn't even sure he wanted to take it to the Firefighters Blazin' Chili Cookoff Contest, being held this afternoon at the department's annual picnic. They way his luck was going, he'd give the whole department food poisoning.
Just then, Marco Lopez walked in, whistling softly.
"Marco, am I glad to see you."
Marco stopped, looked over his shoulder, then pointed to himself. "ME? Why?"
"Marco, you have to help me. You're Andi's favorite character. Please, tell me how to get back on her good side. What do I need to do?"
Marco shook his head. "Just chill out, Chet. Andi's a really cool lady. Once you met her, you'll see. Besides, she told me you've been taking this with amazing graciousness, and I think she's impressed. She mentioned that she even has a surprise in store for you."
"You've talked to her? When? What's the surprise?"
Marco held up his hand, stopping Chet's questions. "I don't know, Chet, she didn't tell me. You can meet her this afternoon, though. She's my date for the picnic."
"Your taking one of *them* to the department picnic?"
"Sure. So are Roy and Johnny. Something wrong with that?"
"Uh, no, no. What could be wrong with that? Hey, what do you mean, Roy's taking a writer to the picnic? What about Joanne?"
Marco bestowed a look of pity on poor Chet. "You don't get it yet, do you? This is *their* universe here, Chet. Joanne doesn't exist here, because the writers say so. Roy is taking Tangee, and Johnny is escorting both Charli *and* Deb. He's gonna have to be on his toes all afternoon." Chuckling at the thought, he left to get ready for the picnic. Their relief shift would be here soon, since all the crews had agreed to work in half-shifts, so everyone had a chance to attend the picnic at some point during the day.
Once at the picnic, Chet began to relax, and even hoped maybe Andi would let him have a little fun. Marco hadn't shown up yet, so Chet hadn't met her. But the chili contest judging was coming up soon. Chet hoped to take a prize this year.
When the contestants were called up one at a time to present their entries to the judges, Chet groaned, feeling his day go abruptly downhill. He hadn't realized that Don Phillips had transferred to LA County. Hearing Chet's moan of dismay, Mike turned toward him. "What's wrong, Chet?"
Pointing to the area where the judges were grouped, Chet said, "Don Phillips, that's what's wrong. He just transferred into LA County from up north."
Mike shrugged his shoulders, not understanding the significance. "So, who's Don Phillips?"
"Only one of the all-time Chili Champions. The guy's won more chili cookoffs than all of the people in Texas combined. There goes my prize."
When his name was called, Chet, very subdued, offered samples to the judges, noting that they didn't write as much down on their judging forms for him as they had for Phillips. What a day this was turning out to be. So Chet was totally stunned when he was chosen as the first place winner, the prize being two days off *with pay*, to be taken whenever Chet wanted.
After receiving his ribbon from the Chief's wife, and getting handshakes and pats on the back from his crew, Chet looked up to the sky. "Thank you!"
(YOU'RE WELCOME, CHET.)
Much thanks to Angela Mull of the Highlander Fan Fiction Universe, whose story "The Grand Adventure" inspired this one. If you like "Highlander" the series, and want a great laugh, you can link to Angela's story at www.seventh-dimension.simplenet.com.
"Chet's Bad Day" ©1999 Andi Charleville. "Emergency!" and its characters © Mark VII Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of fiction, and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
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