Another Halloween in New England, another monster
approaching. In school we just read
"The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street," one of my favorite episodes
of The Twilight Zone, and, like the
monster approaching the coastline, it's all about mass hysteria. Stores will be mobbed, bottled water will be
wiped out, and there will be a run on odd canned foods like Spam and mixed
vegetables.
Right now the only hysteria I am feeling is whether or not
my cellar will hold up. That and whether
or not my furnace will ever be fixed. (I
don't necessarily mean as in "right this second" but more as in
"my poor landlord has to pay the plumber to come out yet again and re-fix
the same problem yet again, and may be facing a new furnace on top of
everything else they have going on" kind of way.)
The monster to which I am referring is, of course, Hurricane
Sandy.
Days ago, only one local weather person (a woman, God bless
her sensibility) claimed the storm would be coming; every other station created
models and followed research that said the storm was going out to sea somewhere
near the Carolinas. We New Englanders
have not been lulled into foolishness by these spaghettified radar ribbons of
possibilities known as "Storm Tracks." The minute we hear, "Tropical depression
in the Caribbean," we buy anything and everything from milk to snow
shovels, even if it's only rain coming.
(One really never can be too prepared.
Look at last Halloween - I rest my case.)
I have to take the morning off tomorrow due to an
unavoidable appointment. Before I go
back to work, I think I'll hit the grocery store and stock up on some
staples, like toilet paper, milk, and Halloween candy (sugar will be essential
should I need to bail). I don't need
batteries because I keep those stocked year-round, just in case, but I might
consider buying some matches for important things like lighting the gas on the
burners to the stove should the electricity shut down.
It's all about timing.
If I get to the store while most people are working, I might make it out
alive. If I wait until the afternoon or,
worse even, the weekend, I will be in lines that make the women's bathroom at a
sporting even look like child's play, lines that make Black Friday at Best Buy
at 3:00 a.m. look like nothing more than a small gathering of ten thousand friends.
Therefore, apologies go out to my co-workers: I will certainly
try to be back by lunch-time, but my survival of and comfort level for the next
few days far outweigh sitting in meetings all afternoon. If you don't hear from nor see me by 12:30, send
out the search party because it means I've fallen victim to the Sandy Hype. Or I have been spaghttified. Or I am shoveling snow. If I'm not there, feel free to start (and
finish) the meetings without my exceptional, smart repartee.
