Where's the Fire?

     I often go to Gaylord's on Piedmont Avenue for a coffee.  They don't bat an eye when I order a decaf no fat mocha with whipped cream.  The servers are congenial, smiling and remember my name.  It's a great friendly place where I get good coffee, good service and usually, the window seat.  One recent Monday morning I got all of those plus a bonus.
     I walked through the door about 10 o'clock and laid my bag and book on my favorite spot, the bench.  Then, straightening up and pulling my wallet out of my pocket, I headed for the counter.  That's when I noticed the line.  There were eight Oakland firemen ahead of me.  All in uniform and well-muscled, they were a good looking crew.  I did notice that a couple of them had what was at least the beginning of a belly, however.  When I told my friends this story, one of them said, "They were probably the drivers.  They don't get much exercise."
     As we all stood there waiting for our caffeine fix, two more firemen joined the line.  These fellows were in Alameda uniforms, with radios strapped to their hips.
     The baristas raced to fill the orders:  cappuccino, black coffee, latte, iced coffee, mocha, some with whipped cream, some without, all to go,  the ladies smiling and friendly in the hectic scene.  It may have been my romantic imagination at work, but I thought I saw some flirtation going on across the counter, too.
     One of the first in line, a younger fellow, was sent back to the fire truck parked on the street as soon as he got his coffee.  To watch the truck?  To monitor calls?  The others gathered in pairs and clusters till everyone had been served.  Then they walked out to the sidewalk at 41st and Piedmont and had what looked like a conference for several minutes before making their way back to the truck.  I didn't see the Alameda guys leave, so I don't know what they were driving.
     "What a reassuring treat," I thought as I sipped my mocha.  "It wouldn't be half bad being rescued by one of those guys."  When I bussed my dishes to a spot near the counter, I spoke to the barista.  "Is that a regular occurrence?" I asked hopefully.
     "No," she said.  "That's the first time it's happened."
     Now I have another reason for stopping at Gaylords.  It could happen again.