A girl sits alone in a small emergency dispatch office. It is the middle of the night. The room is dark but for a single light above the desk and the twinkling of the Christmas tree lights.
She sits before the monumental task of preparing the monthly emergency reports with the satisfaction that comes from creating order from chaos. It is a good job. It makes her feel important.
But in the back of her mind, she is dreaming of far-off places and the adventures that they hold. The smell of the Christmas tree stirs a sense of anticipation; the old year draws to an end and a new one is about to begin. She inhales deeply and shivers with pleasure at the mysteries that lie ahead.
Suddenly, a radio crackles to life, a radio which ensures constant communication with emergency personnel. The girl casts aside her musings and leaps into action. There is important business here, lives to be saved.
She keys the mike and speaks. “Scotia here. Go ahead, over.”
The speakers crackle again. A momentary pause. Then the firefighter’s voice bursts forth, with only a hint of suppressed laughter.
“What are you wearing?”
Another Friday night in Bridgewater.