You Can’t Be a Firefighter Since the Day You Were Born

There’s a new drama on NBC called Chicago Fire. During the show’s preview, a hot girl asks one of the shows’ characters, “How long have you been a firefighter?” His answer?

Steely glare. Cocky smirk. And then, just this: “Since the day I was born.”

Wait, so during your first moments on Earth, you were immediately a firefighter? Doesn’t make sense. You just emerged from the womb, ready to risk your life running into burning buildings? I call BS. I’m picturing a doctor delivering a baby holding a giant helmet, ax,  and another baby, who he saved from a fire while he was in there.

According to my research, active duty firefighters spend over 600 hours training, or 40-48 hours per week. That’s a lot of jumping jacks in the placenta. Isn’t childbirth uncomfortable enough for mothers without a tiny person undertaking rigorous exercise inside her belly? A baby kicking: cute. A baby doing squat thrusts: sheer agony, one can only assume.

Do you realize how much this guy’s Mom would have to eat to sustain all this? First of all she’s got a growing fetus who needs his strength to get through the grueling firefighting regimen. Secondly – firefighters typically train at a fire academy. That means she has to presumably feed an entire crew of  instructors who are  showing her fetus son the firefighting ropes. That’s a lot of ice cream and pickles, my friend.

Also, elephant in the womb: how the hell do you get an entire fire academy training crew and fire equipment inside a lady? What was this, some massive experiment where a bunch of scientists got together in a lab, shrunk a crew of guys who knew a lot of stuff about fighting fires, and had them immediately train this fetus? How do we know that’s what the little guy even wanted? Maybe he’s more inclined towards the arts, or being an accountant. You’ve chosen the fetus’s job for him before he even knows what the concept of a job is.  Sounds dictatorial to me.

“You want to be an astronaut? Look, Yet-to-be-Named Fetus, some eccentric billionaire spent lots of dough to see if we could make someone be a firefighter from the day he was born, so you’re doing this whether you like it or not. Now back to your studies! By tomorrow I expect a full report on Chapter 7: ‘For Small Ones, Just Use Baking Soda ‘Cause Water Actually Makes it Worse.'”

A baby firefighter would be useless for at least the first four years of his existence. What’s he going to say when he shows up to a fire? “Hey guys, the hose is too heavy for me, so it it cool if I just pee on it? Also, I can’t walk or stand up, so can one of you just walk me over to the fire and hold me next to it? Oh, you know what, check that  – has anybody taken care of riding that dalmatian like a horsey? Nope? I’m on it.”

While it’s clear that in real life a baby firefighter would be a disaster, it would make a great show. Let’s face it: a procedural drama about a fire station isn’t really original. But a captivating hour-long dealing with the trials of tribulations of being an infant who puts his life on the line to save people, despite the fact that he has no idea what anything is? That’s compelling.

Maybe you throw in a strong female as a romantic lead. Maybe you throw in an older brother who at the ripe old age of 2 is jealous of all the attention his new brother’s getting. Maybe you throw in a subplot where there’s this really bad fire burning down the whole city, but he can’t help  since Yo Gabba Gabba’s on.

Bottom line: if that’s not what this show is, then I’m writing the script, calling it Backdraft Babies, sending it to Hollywood post-haste, and watching the dollars roll in.


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