Tain't a fit night out for man nor beast

I was at work and I overheard talk about some sort of tornado warning. A coworker's wife, who works in Schaumburg, had called to tell him that her company was instructing all employees to leave their desks and go to emergency safe rooms. Fortunately (or unfortunately, if you wanted an excuse not to work), she works in one of these safe rooms, and didn't have to go anywhere.

So a discussion ensued about what we all should do at our office. Several of my coworkers live in distant suburbs, and leaving the office would entail heading toward the storm. Still, in the absence of a concrete emergency plan, what to do? Skokie is not particularly vulnerable to tornadoes — too urban — and since the warning seemed to be till 5:30, I thought I'd stick around till 5:30. (The was also a tornado watch until 11pm.) Meanwhile, I had not driven today; I was on public transportation. In my car I would have felt secure — I'd be dry, in a 4-wheel drive vehicle, and headed toward even more urban areas where tornadoes are next to impossible. But alas, it was not to be.

By 5:30 it had become so dark and creepy out that I thought I'd really better just leave. (It's the age-old problem of waiting something out: will it get worse before it gets better? And when will it get better? Is it reasonable to wait that long?) So I shut down my computer and checked the time. The next bus was due to leave in 10 minutes. I sat down in the comfy chairs in the downstairs lobby and read my New Yorker for a few minutes. Then I tucked my New Yorker into my pants, closed my jacket, and head out to brave the elements.

The elements had abated somewhat; the sky was clearer and less reminiscent of the stormy skies featured in the real world in the movie The Matrix. The rain was manageable and the wind not too bad — which was particularly good because the umbrella I'd chosen to bring today was a tiny fold-up deal, a stocking-stuffer gift from my mother, rather than the larger umbrellas I usually carry. (The umbrella turned out to be quite good, actually. The fabric is sturdy and the umbrella well made. Still, in serious wind I doubt it would have survived.)

The bus came fairly quickly and took me to the Skokie Swift train station. I got out to find no rain at all, and the sky brighter in some parts, though still dark grey-green in others. I went into the station and waited at the platform. The train pulled up almost immediately.

As I started to get in, BAM, all at once, the rain hit. I sat by a window and looked across the platform and out the station windows. Tree were whipping around and rain pelted the glass, very much like a hurricane. As we pulled out of the station it sounded like the car was being hit by hundred of pebbles, which in a way we were: it was hailing.

I looked out the window at the garbanzo-sized hailstones bouncing off the train. The streets around us were in near-whiteout condition, like in a blizzard. Three seats ahead of me, a passenger moved inward one seat, away from the window. That seemed like a reasonable thing to do, but I was in a single seat, so instaed I swung around to one of the inward-facing seats, which have no windows.

Two minutes later, the hail stopped. The guy and I returned to our seats. (There were 4 people total in the car, and only two of us in the center section.)

The conductor came on and announced:
"Attention Passengers!"
(long pause)
"In case you didn't know it, there's a tornado watch tonight until 11pm."
So, no actual news there.

I changed at Howard to the Red line. Sitting in the car was a woman with a rolling suitcase that had a cardboard box strapped on it, and a baby blanket thrown over the top. (Probably a makeshift baby carriage: we humans are resourceful when necessary.) Next to her in another seat was a large Paddington Bear doll, about 2½ feet tall, wearing a pastic rain slicker. So that was convenient for him.

A group of loud teenagers got on, and one said "I smell like a wet dog an' shit".

At Lawrence, where I got off, I found that the Aragon Ballroom was having a concert (The Mars Volta). In standard Aragon Ballroom style, concertgoers were lined up on the other side of the train viaduct, waiting for the doors to open. The rain had come back, and they looked miserable. Or at least, wet.

I'd seen a bus approaching while I was up on the platform, but I didn't think I'd make it to it. (Normally I walk from the train station, but occasionally I take the bus, which cuts out about 3/4 of the trip.) By the time I got to the street, I'd forgotten about the bus; had I been paying attention, I would have noticed that I would have made it. But instead, I walked. It's only a 15-minute walk.

I headed down Lawrence, the rainstorm ramping up around me. Seeing the light turn red, I ducked into the doorway of the Starbucks on the corner, and thought about what to do. Walk? Wait it out and have some coffee? I could hear emergency sirens going off in the distance, at least two. Ambulances? Police? Fire trucks? No, definitely emergency sirens, which I don't recall ever hearing before. Intimidating! But home was only a fifteen-minute walk away! And tornadoes in the city a nearly impossible!

This sounds like foreshadowing; don't worry, there were no tornadoes in the city, as far as I know.

Anyway, I walked home, feeling my shoes getting wet, feeling the water soaking in through my laces, feeling my cuffs getting wet. Noticing that the rain was falling diagonally, I stopped in an alley, in the lee of an apartment building, where I could be relatively dry, and decided to wait until the rain eased up.

I waited. The rain got a little heavier. I waited some more. The rain got a little heavier. I waited some more. The rain got a little heavier and the wind changed, so I was no longer out of the rain. I trudged on.

I passed a midrise apartment building. A drainpipe connected to their gutters emptied out by the sidewalk (as is recommended by the city). Water was gushing out in spurts, shooting up 6 to 8 inches off the ground, and running down the sidewalk in a mini-river that I stepped around.

I thought, my basement! Is my basement flooding?

If it does, what will get wet?

At this point I was soaked. My shoes and socks were wet through, and my pants were drenched below the knees. My bag was tucked under my arm, and my New Yorker once again safely stuck into my pants, under my coat. Onward, onward!

The rain eased up as I approached home, and stopped altogether once I'd gotten inside and gotten my shoes, socks, and pants off.

The basement was not flooded.

There's George Price cartoon I remember from my childhood, in which a man comes into his house, accompanied by a cat, a dog, an ostrich, a moose, a hawk, and various other fauna, and he explains to his wife, "Tain't a fit night out for man nor beast!"

Labels: journal, personal

posted by Tony at 6:57 PM