Why Are You Here?

I’m in the parking lot of a testing site where there will be the three-hour written test required to apply to many fire departments. This is not my first time taking it, but it expires every year and mine was about to lapse. I’m an hour and a half early, studying in my car.

A truck pulls up next to me and parks. It’s a coworker of mine from the reserve fire department. We were in the academy together and had just graduated a few months before.

He gets out and doesn’t seem to see me, so I get out and say, “Hey! How’s it goin’?”

He stares at me, straight-faced, and says, “Why are you here?”

I pause, and ask, “What do you mean?”

He pauses and gives a look of such confusion it easily could be misconstrued as disgust. Then something clicks, and he says, “Oh.”

He proceeds to get back in his truck, close the door, and roll up the window.

I’m just standing there with my door open, and because I’d only gotten out to say hi, I get back in and close the door too.

Many things have drawn me to pursue a career in the fire service. One, is the camaraderie. The more experience I’ve gotten as a volunteer, though, the more I’ve considered that might not be an aspect of this job I get access to. I’m not one of the boyz. It’s not something I often think about, but it’s something interactions like this force me to reckon with.

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Review

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This piece discusses the gendered reality of firefighting. The fire service is often framed as a place of camaraderie and belonging, yet the protagonist experiences the opposite. While never explicitly stated, the subtext is clear—women are treated as outsiders in a space where their presence alone raises questions. The power of the piece is in how little it needs to say outright. The unspoken message is: You’re not supposed to be here. You don’t belong here.

The fact that the coworker’s exclusion wasn’t aggressive or explicit makes it even more insidious. These micro-moments of exclusion are more common, harder to call out, and more isolating than outright discrimination. The story highlights how camaraderie is conditional and forces the reader to ask: Is it really a core part of the job if it’s only extended to some?

The tone isn’t angry or melodramatic, which makes it even more impactful. The quiet sting of the moment lingers without being overstated. There’s a growing recognition of the gap between expectation and reality, but it’s not resignation—it’s a processing of truth. The final reflection lands hard: “It’s not something I often think about, but it’s something interactions like this force me to reckon with.” This sentence is perfect because it shows how exclusion isn’t always front and center—but it’s always there, lurking in the background.