"FHHHRRRR INSPCTHHHRR!"
This alarming call may ring a bell in the minds of most Princeton students or incite a bout of nausea, whatever images it sparks. Is it the lack of vowels characteristic of Fire-Inspector-Speak that hits so close to home? Perhaps it is the nightmarish Big Brother Master Key that gives this highly sophisticated and technical branch of investigators license to invade, attack and destroy offenders. The deadliest of all enemies goes by the name "open flame" in the guise of unused candles.
I am actually a huge fan of Mr. Fire Inspector. I think my favorite moment might have been the time when I awoke to see Mr. Fire Inspector standing in my room at nine a.m., smiling at me with his carbon checklist, his big red nose and two eyes made out of coal. I graciously welcomed him with hot tea and crumpets and he helpfully reminded me that my hotpot was a minor violation of the Fire Code. I grinned sheepishly and offered my Smokey the Bear plush toy as a sacrificial lamb to the big FI. We laughed gleefully and practiced "Stop, Drop and Roll" for hours on end.
Our powwow concluded with a map-making activity during which I was instructed to draw the quickest route to the closest "means of egress." But I got really confused, you see, because my Tiger Food bulletin was so big and its fluorescent yellow hue blended in so well with the wall that I couldn't even find my door.
Apparently not all students have had such positive encounters with the protectors of our fire-free world. One student, we shall call her "Maggie Firestarter," is currently organizing a grass roots campaign against the PU KGB that also includes really dry leaves and anything else that can contribute to a brush fire. On her way from the shower to her room one afternoon, "Firestarter" saw secret agents hooking up 24 hour camera cables to monitor her possible fire violations and programming her door to lock even if she didn't have her key. And Sparky, the gestapo's pitbull, was frothing at the mouth and choking on bits of a tapestry that had been removed because it might spontaneously combust. Good thing it was just an irreplaceable family heirloom from the 16th century.
This brave student has already taken drastic measures including a "Take Back the Lamp" march on campus. She has also instituted a U-CALL – simply dial "E-V-E-R-Y-S-T-U-D-E-N-T-S-N-E-M-E-S-I-S" and you will be connected to the Office of Conflagration. Leave out the vowels resembling the fire inspector dialect and Backdraft or The Towering Inferno will be delivered to your door, no questions asked.
Because I so enjoyed teatime with my new best friend, I have started a petition for harsher restrictions. All clothing must be clearly labeled as fire proof, a rule easily and effectively tested by the Joan of Arc method. And forget about covering 25% of the wall with posters. The only piece of paper allowed is a university sanctioned checklist of fire precautions.
Anyway, are these fire inspectors Crusaders of Justice risking life and limb to prevent the deadly fire hazard "clothing on the floor," or are they Satan's spawn attempting to create the next Ice Age?
Whatever your opinion may be, take a stand and fight for it. If you are confused, think about which would prefer: Sticking your tongue under Insta-Hot or being trapped in a meat locker? Pushing papers for a Goliath or being hired because you are a David? It's up to you . . .
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