Death by crushing would not be ideal.
This is the conclusion I came to after yesterday’s freak earthquake. Being a reasonable person (the kind who thinks that since Baltimore doesn’t sit on a fault line, earthquakes are impossible), I concluded that my building was shaking as the result of a massive explosion. Then I predicted, during those few minutes of heightened panic, that my building was about to crumble and crush me underneath its rubble.
Twelve days after I was born, the Quake of ’89 rocked San Francisco, and my baby-self was only a few-dozen miles south in Monterey. That was the first earthquake I’ve ever experienced, but my baby-self must have had a bad memory because I don’t remember a thing.
Therefore, yesterday was mildly terrifying. I assume that an earthquake would be scary under any circumstances, but it becomes slightly more unnerving when you’re convinced that earthquakes can’t happen where you are. That leaves you making a list in your head—equal parts inventive and terrifying– explaining why your building is moving and may collapse and kill you at any moment: a nuclear warhead was dropped in D.C., giant earthworms with malicious intent, the world is ending, etc., etc.
My building didn’t collapse. Actually, no buildings collapsed. In fact, the worst of the damage was a burst water pipe in the Pentagon and some shenanigans with nuclear reactors near Richmond. But, despite the lack of broken buildings and untimely deaths, the whole experience was pretty exciting. And, it got me out of fifteen-minutes of work. I’m willing to risk death for that.
ishouldhaveablog 