The year was 1994. Or maybe it was 1987. I forget, and frankly, so does everyone in the town I used to live in before I was exiled here. You see, about two decades ago–again, time really flies by when you have no way to measure time–I got a job as the Fire Chief of Anytown, USA. There’s a story behind the town’s name, but I’ll get to that later. How I became fire chief and how I got kicked out of Anytown are much more important. At least that’s what the house where I’m living in/with tells me.
Anyway, about two decades ago I moved to the town subsequently-known-as-Anytown. I had no connections, no money, and no friends there. Nothing. I just happened to pass by it on my cross-country travels as a door-to-door knife salesman. I stopped in to make my usual rounds, and before I knew it, became the Fire Chief.
How did I become the Fire Chief, you ask? Good question. Simply put, I was in the right place at the right time. Quite literally. See, as I entered the-town-that-was-soon-to-be-named-Anytown there was a mob of people rushing down the street towards me. I was a pretty decent salesman, if I do say so myself, but I’d never been greeted like that before in any of my visits. I figured they were just crazy about their knives. The knives I was selling were pretty nice ones, after all. They had handles on them and everything.