The scout’s motto is “Be Prepared”. Well, I’d be a horrible scout and not just because I recoil from group activities and the great outdoors. I would suck at scouting because I’m ill prepared. I don’t mean that my checkbook is overdrawn or that I fail to pay my bills. No, I’m talking about preparation for natural disasters. I can’t even find a flashlight at the moment.
While watching Hurricane Irene prowl up the East Coast, I was reminded once again that I have no plan or preparations in the event of an earthquake. Yes, you heard me correctly. I, Kelly Reiterman, a native Californian and 4th generation San Franciscan, no less, have no earthquake plan. It’s my sense that transplants to California do seem to have a plan and all the gear ready. It’s those of us who grew up feeling earthquake after earthquake who aren’t prepared.
My grandmother was nine years old when the 1906 earthquake and fire hit and burned her family out of their flat on Clementina Street in the South of Market neighborhood of San Francisco. She was understandably terrified of earthquakes for the rest of her life but not enough to prepare for the next one. Her preparation consisted of praying at her home altar.
Little earthquakes happen all the time. You learn to discern between one that “shakes” and one that “rolls” and you’re just not fazed by them. If you were, you’d be on anti-anxiety drugs all the time. Sometimes, though, when an earthquake lasts a little longer than usual, a native has a conversation with himself or herself. It goes something like this:
Native
I wonder if I should get up and go under the door frame.
(beat)
Wait. Didn’t I hear that we shouldn’t go under
door frames any more? I wish they’d make up their minds.
And before the dilemma can be resolved, the earthquake is over and the native goes back to what he or she was doing before.
I didn’t feel the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake because I was on a bus rounding a corner downtown (not too far from good old Clementina Street) and with the usual bus shaking, there was no way to tell an earthquake had happened. That is, not until I got up to Market Street and saw hunks of buildings in the street.
I did feel the 1994 Northridge earthquake in Los Angeles. I was shaken awake in my little studio apartment in West Hollywood and it wasn’t from my neighbor’s Madonna CD. I heard wine glasses falling in the kitchen area and I do remember saying out loud, “This can stop now!” Yet even after that, I never thought of preparing myself for “The Big One”.
I’m now thinking about getting more prepared. I’ve been scouring websites that offer earthquake survival kits and comparing them. I’ve gotten as far as this:
Kelly
Hmm. This one has a whistle but no wrench. Do I need a whistle?
(beat)
Dammit! Why didn’t I ever learn to whistle?!
Scoff if you must, but at least it’s a start. Hell, I even found my flashlight! Now all I have to do is find batteries…