You may have all heard: there was once an old woman who
lived in a shoe then she decided to blow the whole East Coast like a discounted
whore. Her name is Sandy and she is
filthy little thing.
On the night of October 28, the storm had arrived. I couldn't grasp the concept of “the eye of
the storm” that the weather forecasters spoke of because the only “eye” I could
relate to is “the eye of the tiger.” It
baffled me as to how a storm could travel up the East Coast, do damage and move
onto another town. It sounded to me that Sandy just tooted and booted. The
winds grew stronger and just like contractions, the more powerful and sooner
the intervals meant we were closer to delivery.
I closed my curtains in fear of a lightning bolt striking through my
window to aim for the metal in my eyeglasses and I would be struck right
between my eyebrows. Then, I would be
paralyzed and left to die before my popcorn finished popping and my roommates
found me. My chances for freak accidents
were greater during a storm and statistics show: so was everyone else’s. Heavy rained poured, strong winds blew,
lights began to flicker and within two hours the power went out. It was happening- colonial life began.
Candles were the light of my life for the next six days and
sponge baths became a familiar routine.
Bathing in candle light would have been a romantic scene if I hadn't of
had rock hard nipples that could etch glass and shivering like a wet
Chihuahua. With every cold lather I brushed
over my body, all I thought was how fortunate I am to not have grown up in a
power-less and shower-less era. Viva la
hot showers! Cold baths became my enemy
and like other New Yorkers we pushed our hygienic limits just enough until we
had to succumb to yet another frigid wash.
Dirty hair was a predicted trend for the week and I did not see one
unfashionable person in sight.
Every day I walked thirty blocks uptown in search of heat
and electricity; I was a metropolitan refugee.
The value of a power outlet had increased overnight and at the sight of
an available outlet, refugees scrambled like piranhas to plug their cell phones
causing an outright duel in the middle of Starbucks. The anxiety of losing power to one’s
cellphone felt as though you were losing your leash to the rest of the world
and suddenly you were scared, cold and alone.
I watched my battery diminish from 40% to 20% to 10% to dead. As soon as my screen went blank, the world
became a little more dangerous, I forgot the directions to get home and I
needed a bowl of chicken noodle soup more than ever. I would hurry home before sunset to avoid
descending down into the abyss of darkness where figures of the unknown
existed. Most of the time they were
innocent people walking their dogs but in my imagination I was surrounded by
third degree murderers and face eating zombies waiting to attack their next
victim.
On the sixth day, ConEd said, “Let there be light!” I woke
up Saturday morning to electricity, heat and hot water. I immediately took a HOT, HOT, HOT shower
until my fingers turned pruney and I simulated a fever. Then, I turned on my phone, turned on the TV,
turned on my computer and microwaved any object in sight…just because I
could.