Donde Estan Las Bomberas?

After I realized that I didn’t know how to buy bandaids in Germany, much less ask for a defibrillator or file for survivorship benefits, I struck out to gather information to populate my personal emergency management/disaster recovery/business continuation plan.
I was keenly pleased to find, while I was searching for a cheesecake specialty shop I’d read about online, the local volunteer fire station:

Are you wondering if their fire truck is always dressed up as a parade float? Me, too.

Are you wondering if their fire truck is always dressed up as a parade float? Me, too.

But wait, I still don’t know what to do in the event of fire! What do I say, and how do I say it?

OK. Thanks. Got it.

OK. Thanks. Got it.


……………………………………………………………………………………
So that’s a relief, and now I can turn my attention back to criticizing the gender and racial messaging in public pictorial signage. (Skype me if you want to chat about what the three different nose styles on the firemen MEANS in the context of their Crayola-flesh-toned faces.)

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