The Fire Station Essay -- Descriptive Essay, Descriptive Writing

I was sitting at my dinner table and suddenly the TV course was erupted in with an irritating noise. An announcment ran across the bottom of the TV screen, There will be a fire meeting tonight, 730. I quickly purification my supper and head into town. I turn my engine off and got out of my car. I walk up the cement ramp towards the room access of the metal-sided fire station. The steel door is cold and I carefully enter the door locks code and turn the reluctant knob. The room is dark and I blindly reach just about the shoetree and hit the light switch. Instantly the buzzing light of fluorescent bulbs fills the room. My nostrils also fill but with the smell of machines. Slowly as I walk make headway into the station, I can feel the loose grit and sand underneath my feet.Directly in front of me is an undersized crimson fire truck. It is a avoidance pickup truck, fitted with a boxy accessory tool bed. The hood is ironically raised, as if being repaired. How strange that an emer gency vehicle appears broken down. On the stop over of the truck, a trailer is attached, which stows a six-wheeler. The truck and trailer, inconveniently, cuts access to the rest of the station. Along the wall, yellow fire passage of armser uniforms hang beneath their wearers name. An ash smell radiates from the fibers. There is a narrow passageway between the racks of protective clothing and the aft of the trailer. This serves as not only a hallway but also a date area. My uniform, technically called bunker gear, is on the rack closest to the entrance door. Located at the entrance of the station, I manage only to be a interference to people entering, unlike the firefighters who have to dress in the tight passageway. Once through the small walkway between the trailer and wall, there are tw... ...d the instructions on the pager. Am I forgetting something? I went into the other room reached around the corner and flipped the light switch. I grabbed a hand-held radio, got in the tr uck and started it up.I wait anxiously for someone else to arrive. I pace and mull over the situation. Will anyone else show up? Will I have to go simply? Am I sure of where the fire is? After what seemed like hours of waiting, the man with the cowboy hat arrives. With great excitement, he hips and hollers as if he was going to fight Indians. I helped him get ready, grabbing a handheld radio for him. I hopped in the with him and we drove out of the barn. As the heavy truck proudly drove around the corner, I hit the switch for the siren. I then got on the radio, called dispatch, and told them Crawford is in route. A voice replied saying, 10-4 Crawford, time is 1322, squelch.