by Michael B. Wright
“Hey, Siri! When is hurricane season?”
“You have to unlock your iPhone first! The hurricane season in the Atlantic runs from June 1 to November 30.”
Ok, and John Bon Jovi said it best: “Whooah, we’re halfway there, living on a prayer.”
You may depend on the weather channel, Denis Phillips on ABC Action News in Tampa, or Mike’s Weather Page on Facebook, and you can track all the spaghetti bands you want, but a hurricane’s gonna do what a hurricane’s gonna do, in spite of guesstimates, wishes and prayers. If they were predictable, we’d call them “him-micanes.”
The only thing predictable is the number of people who will stubbornly sit it out in their homes no matter if it’s a Category 1 or a Cat 5. “My house is solid, and 3 feet above sea level. I am not evacuating; I’ve been through this twice before, and this will be no different.”
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These people are what we call morons. Many of them are now spoken of in the past tense and are fondly remembered. Some are also stupid and inconsiderate, being known for emptying grocery shelves of water, canned goods and toilet paper (I’ve always questioned this last item) depriving other residents of these necessities.
When Charley hit the west coast of Florida 20 years ago, my wife and I evacuated to Altamonte Springs, only to have him follow us and topple a tree onto the roof of where we were sheltered. (The Joy of My Life slept right through it.)
The primary lesson we learned was to keep our gas tank topped-off during hurricane season. Driving 95 snail-paced miles on a near empty gas tank – with no operating filling stations in sight – is not fun.
During hurricane season, we should all abide by the motto used by the boys and girls of the Boy Scouts of America and “be prepared!”
Mike now lives in a “tornado belt.” If you would like to call him a glutton for punishment, you can reach him at micwrighthamo@gmail.com.
