It felt good to have the beginnings of a goal. Before now, my entire life had always been planned for me. I was washed on the first Monday of each month by the newest recruits. I visited a school or led a parade on holidays. My maintenance schedule was legendarily complicated - and always completed exactly on time. The only thing unplanned was when and where a fire would strike, but I, Red-1, was never unprepared for that. I had a desire - a need - to succeed, whether that meant being the best fire truck or the best delivery driver. My honor wouldn’t allow me to consider less.

By my count, I had just over nine hours until my evening with Samantha. Dinner and a movie - hopefully that meant a drive-in. I’d caught part of one such show once when Randle Cineplex’ outdoor screen had been struck by lightning. The nice, neat rows of cars with their occupants had cheered me on when I arrived to save the day - and their night. Sitting in my beloved new car watching a motion picture with Samantha seemed like a fine time to me. Perhaps I could even coax her to touch my thigh again. 

Taking a deep breath, I pushed those thoughts out of my mind, willing my body to relax. I’d barely gotten by yesterday, and a number of people had caught on to my fleshy inexperience. Samantha herself had been suspicious several times, and I really hadn’t spent that much time with her. For me to make it through the whole evening, I needed to learn what it meant to be a woman. What it meant to be me. 

And I had to learn it fast.

Fortunately, I had a magical little device that seemed to know the answer to the universe. This mysterious Google - perhaps some wizened human deity that answered prayers sent in by phone? - could tell me anything that I wanted to know, and faster than the subroutines in my old cab. I mistakenly found this all-knowing entity while trying to look up directions yesterday, but hadn’t had time to truly utilize its awe-inspiring powers. With a quick tap of the screen, I turned my phone on and hailed the invisible God.

> Me: ehat fpo hgirld do in ths mrosnirg?

> Google: Showing results for ‘What do girls do in the morning?”

“Great Scrapheap,” I breathed, unsure if I was more embarrassed with my typing ability or impressed that it had somehow understood what I wanted. Sure enough, it returned a page with a list of things that women do before eight in the morning. It was after nine, but I figured an hour couldn’t hurt that much… right? In any event, this list was sure to give me some clues about the mysterious life of a young, human female. 

> 1. Wake up early and make your bed.

> 2. Exercise and get moving.

> 3. Shower and take care of your skin, hair, and teeth.

> 4. Eat a healthy breakfast.

I stared at the list for a few moments. Exercise and showering made sense - I’d seen my firefighters do both. I still had some leftover pizza, so that covered my healthy breakfast. I was already awake, and making the bed couldn’t take long. 

“This can’t be it,” I muttered, tossing the phone on the bed. The list was hardly different from my morning yesterday when I’d known less than nothing. All I had to do was take a shower and I’d be ready for the world? I was beginning to wonder if being a human wasn’t actually difficult - just new. Why… I could probably pass for a twenty-one year old woman to complete strangers by this evening. My lips curved into a spontaneous smile as I walked into the bathroom, certain that after a quick rinse, I would look stunning.

Then I pulled open the shower curtain.

“Merciful wheels above,” I cursed, staring wide-eyed at the dozens of assorted products that littered the little shower. There were bottles and bottles of… stuff. There was a line of products along the rim of the tub. There were small bottles tucked away in an alcove below a silver handle. There was a whole two-layered tray of nozzles hanging from the shower. I looked at the sink, and there were even more bottles there. Every possible surface had something on it, and each bottle said something different. There were gels and conditioners and shampoos and lotions and soaps and pastes and foams and things for skin and things for teeth and things for odor. Was this my morning routine? All of these things went on me somewhere? In me somewhere? 

You can do this, I thought. Hair products go on hair. Skin products go on skin. It looks overwhelming, but it’s just the unfamiliarity that makes it scary. 

I took a deep breath, and started sorting. 

Every bottle that mentioned skin went into one pile, and I opened every single one of them and dumped a little into my palm until I had a congealed mess of ten products all in a puddle. This I took and began rubbing into my body, from my shoulders down my arms, onto my abdomen, and then my legs. It felt good, but left streaks of white and cream and tan all over, not completely absorbing into my skin. The products all smelled pleasant, but something didn’t look right. I hadn’t seen any humans with this many colors on their skin, but I shrugged it aside. Skin products go on the skin - it was pointless to second-guess myself.

The hair products likewise went into a huge mess and then all into the hair at once. It seemingly took forever to work all of the shampoos and conditioners and styling foams into my long, red hair, but I did manage it eventually. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, and… something was off. My hair seemed awfully wet and full white gloops where there was too much product. Yesterday, my hair had been a little frizzy, but not soaked in a soapy mess. Then again, yesterday I hadn’t had time to get through my morning routine, being dead and all.

Feeling rather proud of myself, I left the bathroom and grabbed a black skirt and black shirt from the never-ending supply of both in my closet. This shirt felt rather tighter than the one I’d worn yesterday, and my breasts seemed to push out the front of it rather spectacularly, including two bumps for the nipples. It felt a little constricting, but it was in my closet so it must be appropriate. I added a pair of socks that looked a little funny - they went further up my leg than what I’d worn yesterday and they seemed to have holes in them all over the place. 

I went back to the mirror and studied my appearance. There were some blotches on my skin, but a lot of the products were smoothing into me as time went, drying out and leaving mostly normal-looking textures. My hair still had white gloops in it, but I trusted that they would fade with time just as the skin care products had. My outfit didn’t quite look as homogenous as what Samantha had picked for me yesterday, but I was covered… mostly.

“It’s time,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Time to go do human things in a human world. You belong here just as much as anyone else.” I grabbed my keys and my phone and stepped out into the hallway of my apartment building, closing the door behind me.

“Hi, Red,” called an excited voice from down the hall. “What are ya… up… ta… what th’ fuck?”

I turned, finding another young woman standing a few feet away. Her large, brown eyes roamed up and down my body, widening as she took in my appearance. I waved, not knowing who this was, and not wanting to hazard a guess.

“Ya look… good,” she stammered, eyes going to my chest and then darting away again. “Diff’rent than usual.”

A knot began forming in my stomach, and I quickly realized that I’d done something wrong. Was it the clothes? The products? Had I not greeted her properly? For that matter, who was this? She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Something about her…

The other girl’s eyes kept darting to mine and then away again, as if she couldn’t stand the eye contact. “Ya… got somethin’ in your hair, Red,” she said quickly. “Maybe he didn’t tell you…”

He what? “I’m just trying a new look,” I said, once again trying to project an aura of confidence, even if the little I had was quickly draining out of me. “You know, gotta change things up.”

“Right,” the other girl said, eyes darting to my chest again. Her face flushed red, standing out brightly against her dark, black hair. “I’ve gotta run, Red. Maybe we can get some pizza later.” She gave me a wave and quickly disappeared into her own apartment. The whole thing left me feeling shaken - clearly I’d done something wrong with my appearance, but I couldn’t begin to fathom what.

And where in the five forges had I seen her before?

I stood in the hall for a few minutes, staring at the door where she'd gone. I’d done something wrong, and diagnosing exactly what would be difficult - I'd never had to learn how to be before. As a fire truck, I’d been created and born with all of the knowledge that I needed to run my subsystems. I’d become sentient as a fully-formed being, ready to take on the world and its fires.

Not so, here. Not totally, at least. 

Sure, I knew how to walk and talk and use my hands, which was more than humans could say at the start of their lives. The autonomous parts of my brain and body worked quite well, and without any direct input from me. But the active-thinking parts, my consciousness and my knowledge of humans that did not relate to 18-45 year old firefighters was woefully out of spec.

I figured that I had three options. I could mess around and try my best and learn by trial and error what things caused people to see me as strange, and possibly lose every friend I supposedly had… or I could spend a massive amount of time praying to the Great Google in an attempt to learn… or I could find someone to teach me how to live as a young woman. Someone that knew all about these hair and body products and how to dress and act. 

That’s it, I thought excitedly. I didn’t have to be a human. Not in mind, at least. I just had to learn how to pretend to be a human.  

I, Red-1, world’s greatest fire truck, was going to become the world’s greatest firetruck-turned-human-acting-like-they’d-always-been-a-human.