One of the permanent fire contracts my fire rescue company has, in addition to airport fire rescue work, is we cover a short track asphalt racetrack at the fairgrounds here. One of the divisions that races here is quarter sprint cars, midget sprints, and junior nascar-style cars called bandoleros.
One evening, one of the cars wrecked into the wall during a race. Kid driving was 14 and wasn’t injured at all, but the car was crumpled enough that he couldn’t get out of it. So after ensuring it was fire-safe, we began an extrication operation, just to cut two collapsed bars off the roll cage so the kid could get out. Kid’s dad shows up from the pit area (shouldn’t be on the track, but he slipped past security), as we are getting set up for our cutting operation. We have everyone cleared away including the track cleanup people and tow truck people, because they aren’t in full fire gear. Dude comes up to the car and starts right into the kid. “Look what the F you’ve done! You know how much this F car costs?!?! This thing is worth 10 of you!…”. My partner told the guy to get the hell off of our scene…”but that’s MY F car!” Don’t give a damn…..this is our scene, and you either clear out, or you’ll be kicked out. Security finally shows up and is leading the guy away, and his last words were “…when they get you out of there, you ain’t coming home! Losers don’t have a place in my house!!!” Sheesh.
As I’m getting the kid covered up in a tarp just prior to beginning the cutting operation with the K12 saw that would be about a foot from his helmet, I tell him “hey kid, sorry about that. Totally unnecessary. We’ll have you out of here in no time.” The kid’s sigh-style response to me was “….it’s alright sir, that’s…..that’s just my daily life. Sorry you had to see my dad. I don’t even like racing these cars. Wish I was doing something else.”