The Experiences of Steven

Almost Off Call

In fifteen hours I will no longer be on call.

No longer am I a municipal maintenance worker. Now I am a Code Enforcement Officer. While my previous job required that I be on call when snow was imminent, this position requires that I rotate every few months with my fellows. I must be available and close enough by to respond.

Previously, I was extended two hours to respond, although alacrity was preferred. Now, Anything beyond thirty minutes presses the patience of all involved, as first responders must await my arrival before heading to their next grave call . Instead of snow removal, I am now called for house fires, meth labs, hoarders, and any manner of situation that calls for a residence to be deemed ‘unfit for occupancy’. I have the authority to declare that a person or persons may not live in their home until it is brought back to a safe condition.

It is not pleasant telling someone that I am, seemingly, adding to their woes; but it must be done. The atmosphere inside of a home used to manufacture meth is dangerous, in a burned home every light switch and ceiling joist is a potential deathtrap, and a hoarding situation can render first responders powerless to find a victim in a burning home filled with an inordinate amount of fuel. People frequently opt for the easiest path and not the smartest especially in the middle of the night— post disaster.

Imagine a father staring at his partially burned home, believing that there could be no harm in sheltering his children inside, if only for the rest of the night. Why not let them sleep in their beds? Only the garage and den were on fire. The fire is out. Isn’t it? And the only reason he cannot is because of me. Some pest that showed up with a placard. I placed it on his door, and now if he attempts to live in his own house he faces arrest by the police, faces prosecution. Isn’t it his property? Isn’t it his responsibility? Isn’t it his choice? Who do I think I am? Why am I doing this evil thing to him?

Or— imagine that I feel sympathy for him. I am swayed by emotion. Instead of compelling this father to find temporary but safe housing for a short while, I allow him to do whatever he wishes, to move back into his house, just hours after it was ablaze— after all only part of the house burned. And where else is he to go? Imagine that spark that wasn’t extinguished, smoldering in the attic until it finds the fuel it needs. Imagine that weakened rafter, not yet examined by an engineer because of my softness. Imagine that light switch with wires melted together that the protective father knows no better than to test (note that electric meters are usually removed at the time of house fires and desperate owners often use nails, wires, or even automotive jumper cables to close the circuit and restore power to their homes). Imagine the pain should one of this poor father’s children come to harm or death because I lacked the courage to face him, to tell him that his home was unsafe— unsafe from top to bottom until it is properly repaired and inspected.

Oh, how this father will hate me for doing my job. But if I do not— If some second tragedy occurs, after his children survive the fire, then some burned beam breaks, some fire reignites; what then? Have I done good now? Or have I undone a miracle of the Lord, Him saving lives and me— destroying them because I was too weak, too cowardly to do my job? How does the inconvenience of finding temporary lodging compare to the loss of a life, of a child? Can you imagine? What would you do?

The Police and Fire Department’s advisement as well as my own training and discretion determine the level of access a person will have to their own property. Fire, hoarding, and drug houses all have different danger levels. Typically owners are permitted to work and clean during normal business hours, except meth labs. Anyone discovered inside the house outside of the negotiable parameters will likely be a looter and dealt with appropriately. Consider how sensible an average person might be, then consider how their sensibility might become compromised when desperation is their driving emotion. This is why a civilized society must compel its members to obey certain rules not only for their own safety but for the safety of others. Why can’t I risk burning my house again? Risk my children? Is it not my house? Are they not my children? Indeed. But what of the neighbor’s house just yards away? What of their property, their lives, and the lives of their children? The lives of first responders, and the lives of children inside the dangerous structure? Should one desperate person in the throes of disaster necessarily be free to choose? And hence when one’s freedom encroaches upon the freedom of another the debate begins.

So with all that said, the burden of being on call is about to be lifted from my shoulders. The days of long hours plowing snow are over and not missed. These days are now replaced by call outs that are less intrusive upon my time but far more intrusive upon my emotions. My turn will come about again but not for months. Please pray that none of us are called in the middle of the night to perform our duties. Pray not for us but for those victims we are called out to serve.