Shake shake shake
At first I thought a heavy file cabinet had fallen in the neighboring room. Either that or a truck had hit the building. A heavy bump was followed by subtle vibrations. But instead of dissipating the shaking continued. Then there was a strong east-west jolt. All the furniture in my office rocked.
I looked at the doctoral student helping me with the journal. She said, “Yep. It’s an earthquake.”
Holy shit — the ground is moving, I thought. And there’s not a fucking thing I can do.
We sat at the desk in front of the computer. I had been teaching her how to run the journal — showing her the tracking sheet, email system, templates, proofs — but the lesson had stopped. The shaking persisted and she said calmly, “What should we do?”
My mind told me not to move. Then I thought of the floor of concrete and steel above my head. Go outside?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“The doorway,” she said. We got up and stood in the doorway. I couldn’t help but think there was no way a steel doorframe, similar to those I had painted for the Iowa City school district, could protect us in case of collapse.
The temblor stopped after 15 or 20 seconds but the vibrations had infected my body. I trembled — half from fear and anxiety, and half from excitement. My first earthquake!
We stood in the doorway unsure what to do next. Do we stay in and go back to work? Do we go outside for a while? I walked down the hall to the office of a staff friend.
“Haven’t had one of those in a long time,” he said. “That was a good one.” I hadn’t seen it, but I was under the impression he had ducked under his desk. A group of professors and students had left the building and gathered in view of his window. “Look at those scaredy-cats out there.”
The three of us walked out and milled around for a few minutes, then walked back in and returned to work. Everyone was buzzing, especially me. I couldn’t keep from smiling. I had experienced a new force of nature. All the native Californians dismissed my excitement as amateurish. None of them were fazed, and after a while the exhilaration faded from my body as well. A half hour later it had been relegated to the back burner in my mind. Southern California was shaken, and a little damage had been done, but the day went on. My helper sat in front of the computer and said, “So…where were we?”
It’s now official: I’m a certified Californian.
I looked at the doctoral student helping me with the journal. She said, “Yep. It’s an earthquake.”
Holy shit — the ground is moving, I thought. And there’s not a fucking thing I can do.
We sat at the desk in front of the computer. I had been teaching her how to run the journal — showing her the tracking sheet, email system, templates, proofs — but the lesson had stopped. The shaking persisted and she said calmly, “What should we do?”
My mind told me not to move. Then I thought of the floor of concrete and steel above my head. Go outside?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“The doorway,” she said. We got up and stood in the doorway. I couldn’t help but think there was no way a steel doorframe, similar to those I had painted for the Iowa City school district, could protect us in case of collapse.
The temblor stopped after 15 or 20 seconds but the vibrations had infected my body. I trembled — half from fear and anxiety, and half from excitement. My first earthquake!
We stood in the doorway unsure what to do next. Do we stay in and go back to work? Do we go outside for a while? I walked down the hall to the office of a staff friend.
“Haven’t had one of those in a long time,” he said. “That was a good one.” I hadn’t seen it, but I was under the impression he had ducked under his desk. A group of professors and students had left the building and gathered in view of his window. “Look at those scaredy-cats out there.”
The three of us walked out and milled around for a few minutes, then walked back in and returned to work. Everyone was buzzing, especially me. I couldn’t keep from smiling. I had experienced a new force of nature. All the native Californians dismissed my excitement as amateurish. None of them were fazed, and after a while the exhilaration faded from my body as well. A half hour later it had been relegated to the back burner in my mind. Southern California was shaken, and a little damage had been done, but the day went on. My helper sat in front of the computer and said, “So…where were we?”
It’s now official: I’m a certified Californian.
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