Seymour Smoke gets a job at knapford station.
The Fat Controller wasn't happy.
These last couple of weeks had been fraught with difficulty and now he had to contend with the local safety inspector intruding into his office.
With his book in hand and a click of his pen, the inspector set about making notes.
"The stations fire exits aren't marked clearly, the fire drills are in shambles, and the fire extinguishers are upside down and expired."
He then stepped up onto an office chair and pulled down a shoddily taped up smoke sniffer.
"This device doesn't even have any bloody batteries in it!"
The Fat Controller went red in the face, he was sure they were there this morning...
"This doesn't happen often, I can assure you. The safety inspector wasn't so convinced.
"It's not like the thing works anyway, even with batteries-"
The inspector sharply raised an eyebrow at this.
He clicked his pen and wrote "regular safety flouter" down in his book.
"And where are the batteries...?" He asked in a stern tone.
With a little "peep-peep" the answer soon presented itself.
A tiny toy train appeared from behind the office desk. The tiny Thomas chuffed happily passed their feet, letting of a cheeky whoosh of steam as it went.
It was full of life and running cheerfully along it's little plastic track, no doubt thanks to it's new batteries
"Peep peep, thanks for all the juice!"
A note was quickly made, and with that the little engine puffed away on another jaunty adventure around it's benefactor's desk.
"I highly recommend you get your act together here, and you can start by dealing with that little trip hazard."
And without another word, the inspector left in a huff.
The warning was clear as day and so the Fat Controller quickly set about righting all the issues.
And he started with the smoke detector.
After all, he did like new gadgets.
--- One Amazon delivery later ---
The next day, the Fat Controller was busy filling in some neglected forms when a grumbly voice came croaking from the ceiling.
"Excuseeee me." Mumbled a sickly voice.
The Fat Controller sighed "What is it now Seymour?"
"Would you be so kind as to close that door? Those old fire hazards on wheels are taking years off my warranty..." His coughing grew louder upon Gordon's arrival.
"I have a better suggestion," came a familiar grumpy tone.
"Why don't we get rid of that whiny little wheeze box and get a proper smoke detector. You know, one that doesn't come with complaining?" The irony was lost on the big engine, he started poop-pooping crossly at the little device.
Poor Seymour was trying his best.
He'd only been up about three hours, but it felt longer.
In his first twenty minutes out of the packaging, he must have screamed at least a half a dozen times.
"EEEEEEEEEEEE, FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!" Screamed poor Seymour.
"Thomas! Move away from the office door for Pete's sake, your fire is upsetting him!" The Fat Controller scolded.
"But sir I need it to live!"
"I'm trying to get my work done and I can't with him screaming!"
Most of the complaints were false alarms of course.
One was for the toaster, two for the smoke breaks, and the rest for every moment the little toy train passed by blowing steam.
It wasn't real smoke, but Seymour didn't care. He was just doing his job.
Gordon was fed up, "Just get rid of him already!"
"I can't... we need to have a smoke detector..." The Fat Controller had long given up working and now just sat angrily at his desk, watching Gordon and Seymour argue.
"Bloody nuisance." The big engine snapped.
"Big windbag." Snarked the sniffer.
And with that last offending remark, the Fat Controller quickly whipped the window blinds down.
Gordon wasn't having that though, and purposefully directed a violent sneeze through the office doorway.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE FIRE!" Seymour screamed.
He took his job very seriously and would occasionally have his own daring feats of heroism, but those were few and far between.
He did save a dozing Fat Controller from his own Easy-press waffle maker once, but that was about it.
With a wave of his blackened waffles, the Fat Controller lamented his poor purchases this year.
"Should have sprang for the air frier."
One too many vengeful engine sneezes eventually had Seymour forcefully relocated to a locker room.
