The high-pitched and insistent alert on my phone jarred me from a relaxing Friday afternoon. The red triangle with the exclamation point said, “Extreme Alert. Tornado Warning in this area. Take shelter now.” Wait, what?! First, I don’t remember downloading this app. And secondly, this isn’t Kansas; it’s Connecticut. Tornados are a rarity that occur once every thirty years or so.
New text from tlcknits, “Are you okay?” Well, I was until panic set in. My phone rings. It’s my aunt asking me if I’m in my basement because she is headed there, and my uncle refuses to go with her. Now I’m beginning to get frightened.
The TV is saying that a possible tornado is heading right for my town and moving out to where my aunt lives. I call my mom and sister who are shopping at the mall. “Where ARE you?!!!! There’s a tornado coming!!!!” My sister laughs and says that she is driving home, and it’s perfectly sunny. “But you don’t understand,” I say, my voice quivering, “They are saying to take shelter NOW!” “Okay, Dorothy, let me concentrate on my driving then.”
By now, I’m running through the house trying to elicit in Jim the same level of hysteria that the media has aroused in me. I quickly change my clothes (huh?) and argue with him over whether the garage or the basement is the better place to take shelter. I look around wondering, other than my dogs, what I should grab in case the house is lifted away. I realize nothing comes to mind.
By now, the alert has been renewed, but I see that our town is no longer in danger. Jim looks at me and deadpans, “Wow, that was a close call.”
A message from my sister on my phone, “Do you need help bringing your mattress back up to your bedroom?”
Don't think I'm warning you next time, bitches!