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| Notes from the belly of the beast (September 2, 2010) |
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| Written by Webmaster | |
| Thursday, 11 September 2008 | |
You expect me to write a column the same week I went through a hurricane? Forget it. Here are my notes. Freeman Rogers 2:30 p.m.: The flashlight in the drawer doesn’t work. The batteries are dead. Whatever. I’m not worried. Sunday, 10 a.m.: Is this the calm before the storm? Either that, or Hurricane Earl’s not coming. Either way, I refuse to put duct tape on the windows. I hate putting duct tape on the windows. Besides, I did that before Hurricane Omar in 2008, and everyone made fun of me. 11:30 a.m.: I went to the store to get a flashlight, just to have something to do. There were a bunch of people there buying bread and batteries. Clearly, they are all hysterical. 7 p.m.: At a party, everyone is nervous about Earl. Apparently they don’t notice the red sunset. Don’t they remember the old saying: “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight”? We’re going to be fine. 7:37 p.m.: LIME sends a text message: “The DDM wishes to inform the public that the BVI is now under a HURRICANE WARNING. EARL has been upgraded to CAT 3. Pls take all necessary safety precautions!” Hmm. What was that old saying again? “Red sky at night, sailor’s horrible fright?” “Red sky at night; we’re all gonna die all right?” “Red sky at night, there’s no point in putting up a fight?” I can’t remember. Maybe I’d better tape those windows after all. 1:10 a.m.: The windows are taped. A balmy breeze is blowing. I’m going to bed. Monday, 5 a.m.: Wind! We’re all gonna die! Wait: There was a lot of wind during Hurricane Omar, too, and there was hardly any damage to the territory. I’m going back to sleep. 7:30 a.m.: See! There’s no more wind. It’s calm and fairly clear, with occasional gusts. Is the storm over? There are plenty of cars on the road. Dang. I probably have to go to work. 8 a.m.: The power’s off at work! Free day! The neighbours are playing Guitar Hero: Maybe I’ll join them. Earl is supposed to pass 30 miles north of Anegada. I bet it will change direction entirely. 11:27 a.m.: I checked the weather report again. The National Hurricane Center says Earl is here already. What a joke! Outside, it’s just a little gusty. 12:50 p.m.: I just read the Department of Disaster Management’s 11 a.m. report. It’s just as I thought: The storm’s not going to hit full force. Tortola is to get mostly tropical storm force winds. I guess all the excitement is on Anegada. Still, the power has finally gone out here in Road Town. 1:20 p.m.: Production Manager Todd VanSickle called to say wind is blowing very hard on Great Mountain. A couple other people called from the north shore to say they’re getting pounded by the storm. I wonder about those people. Here in Road Town, Earl is lame. I haven’t seen a single cow fly by the window. 3:30 p.m.: Mr. VanSickle is now driving around to get photos. He’s headed to West End because he heard some boats were being blown around. But if this were really a hurricane, no one could drive around in it. As far as I’m concerned, this storm is over. 4:30 p.m.: Maybe I’ll go for a ride, too. The power’s back on, and the Internet says the eye of the storm has passed — and that it passed farther from Anegada than expected. Still, for some reason, the wind is picking up. Peculiar. 5:30 p.m.: Help! Have mercy, Earl! I’m sorry I doubted you! I was only kidding about all that stuff I wrote earlier. There’s a thumping sound overhead like huge marbles rolling across tin. Neighbour: “That’s the sound of loose galvanised.” 5:53 p.m.: Outside, sheets of rain are moving horizontally. They sound like billions of tiny bullets hitting the shutters. Other sounds start, similar to a giant machine being ripped apart by angry androids. 6:05 p.m.: Very powerful gusts. The branches outside the dining room window no longer have leaves, because they’ve blown off. Wait: What are branches doing outside the living room window? There’s no tree outside the living room window. 6:15 p.m.: The wind is roaring like freight train. Like 50 angry wolves howling in unison. Someone, clearly hysterical, notes that this is the only time you could go surfing in Road Harbour — or, for that matter, Waterfront Drive.We shoot video out the widow and prepare for imminent death. 6:21 p.m.: Somehow, miracously, we still have power. 6:30-something: I spoke too soon. We’re in the dark. 7:06 p.m.: There is a strange crackling sound, like glass breaking. Tree branches outside are now banging on the window, hard. 7:30 p.m.: Please, Earl, don’t break the window! I’ll do anything you ask. 7:35 p.m.: We gather an emergency bag and go to the neighbours’ apartment, which is more protected from the wind and doesn’t have tree in the window. But this is small comfort to those of us who understand the roof of the entire apartment is about to fly off. 7:35-8:45 p.m.: Notes illegible; no memories. 8:55 p.m.: The wind is subsiding. We have started a Scrabble game. 9:15 p.m.: Earl was no big deal, just as I thought. So what if a little tree fell against the apartment? It didn’t break any windows. The roof is still there. I’m not afraid of any hurricane. Pshaw. I’m going to bed. Disclaimer: Dateline: Paradise is a column and occasionally contains satirical “news” articles that are entirely fictional. |
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