Oh, Fire Station 14, what can I say? This place is a fantastic Fire Station for many, many…read morereasons.
The first is that it is the closest Fire Station to my house, and in the two and a half years that I have lived here, my house has never burned down. Not once. Never so much as singed. Nice work, fellas.
The second is that, at Fire Station 14 (and I assume at all the others) you can get some more of Austin's blue plastic recycle bins. While I have heard that the Austin recycling program is perhaps not what it should be, it's better than nothing at all, and they are generous with their recycle bins. You know what you have to do to get some extras? Just go by the Fire Station and ask. They have HUNDREDS.
Third, they are extremely good at keeping a healthy positive schedule. When I lived in Lubbock, I lived very close to a Fire Station. Those guys kept a TERRIBLE schedule. They let the people in Lubbock set their houses on fire at 5 or 6 in the morning, ALL THE TIME! Then they went whipping off to those fires, sirens wailing and loud as hell, waking me up every time as they rocketed past my house! The Lubbock Fire Station was VERY inconsiderate. Fire Station 14 is much nicer. The people around here are never, ever allowed to burn themselves up at inopportune times of the day, and the fire trucks never wake me up.
But the absolute greatest thing about Fire Station 14 is the Mustaches. When I first went there, to pick up the aforementioned recycling bins, I was shocked at the sheer magnitude of them, both the never ending quantity, and the AMAZING quality. There were Mustaches everywhere, long and think and magnificent, it was like having my fire safety watched over by an entire clan of Viking sailors. These were no wimpy card sharp Mustaches, either. Jimmy Buffet's song had nothing to do with these glorious displays of facial hair, and the guys in Super Troopers haven't got squat on the Firemen of Fire Station 14. The Mustaches seemed to carry the dignity of Great Men, Warriors and Kings, and dare I say, terrible and mighty hairy faced Gods. The Mustaches covered every upper lip in sight like regal and furry vestiges of valor and pride, worn proudly with the air of gunslingers like Wyatt Earp. They were all neatly cleaned, no stray crumbs or dripping soup in these Mustaches, no sir. These were the Mustaches of Men, badges of honor that clearly must be earned in the belly of the great fiery Beast. Thus, I give thanks to the wonderful Mustachioed Protectors of my home at Fire Station 14. Would that I could grow something as elegant and hairy on my face, and stare down the fires of Hell itself along side you.
Seriously, every guy in the place had one, I counted like 12.