Contributing Writer

The Hurricanes are finally over, and we're drying out.�The major repairs

to the house are nearing completion, and all the dead wood is gone. (No,

not The Boy; he'll be gone off to college in about nine months and three

weeks and two days, but who's counting?)

We now can all look back at the last two storms and laugh.�Yeah, right;

none of it was funny.�Okay, maybe seeing the annoying yep-yep dog next door

as it went flying by, now that was funny.�The storm?�Not so funny.�But it

got me thinking, which I try to avoid any chance I get: If you got caught

in a hurricane, where would be the best place or the worst place to be?

The Wife and I got caught at Publix; we had to venture out and brave the

elements for one of life's dire necessities.�Nope, we had plenty of

milk, had a loaf of bread so we could have milktoast, and in my super-secret

hiding place, we had one twin pack of double stuff Oreos, but what we didn't

have was the very sustenance of life.�That's right, we were out of coffee.�Oh,

the horror!�We drove the F-250 turbo diesel pickup truck to the store, because

the "German engineered for excellence" Mercedes was in the shop

again.�(The story is soon forthcoming about how I blew a gasket when I got

the last repair bill.)�When we got out of the store, a 50 mph blast of air

turned our new umbrella inside out and proceeded to pound us with rain so

hard it felt like pins pricking our skin.�We ran into the store.

The Wife went to get her coffee. I went to get a new umbrella and another

pack of double stuff Oreos; I ran out during the last hurricane.�I think

The Boy found them in my super-secret hiding place above the washing machine.

I thought they were safe there.�Go figure.�From the pile of dirty clothes

in his room, I didn't even know he knew where the laundry room was.

We got to the checkout lane as the lights flickered and then went out, plunging

the store into darkness. The light posts outside swayed back and forth, sheets

of rain pounded the vehicles of anyone fool enough to venture out in the

hurricane, and grocery carts were flying across the parking lot, which had

turned into a lake with rivulets running through it. We weren't going

anywhere anytime soon.�We were stuck at Publix, in the middle of a Hurricane,

in the dark.

What better place to be stuck in the middle of a horrific storm when the

power goes out than a fully stocked grocery store? We had plenty of fresh

water on aisle 5, coffee on aisle 7, double-stuff Oreos on aisle 10, and,

of course, on aisle 12 an ample supply of adult beverages.�The deli was open

with no waiting and needed someone to eat all of the food so it wouldn't

spoil.�Where's The Boy when you really need him?�A large camping display

was set up near the front of the store for the upcoming camping season.�It

was complete with a four-man tent, air mattress and two sleeping bags already

rolled out.�Perfect for me and The Wife.

Before we could bed down for the night, the torrent of rain subsided and

we were able to make a dash for the truck.�Well, actually, I made a dash

for the truck and brought it around under the canopy so The Wife could stay

dry. We made it home only to find our power out, too, but that was okay;

The Wife likes to grope around in the dark.

It seemed that we would survive.�We now had two bags of coffee and three

bags of double-stuff Oreos; both life necessities.�All I needed was a new

super-secret hiding place.

There are lots of bad places to be when a hurricane hits and the power goes

out: any golf course in Peachtree City, inside a Mercedes when it's

broken down on the side of the road, at the fire department standing in the

pouring rain next to live power lines, the Sheriff's department chasing

down wrecks and directing traffic, or the Police department running 15 gazillion

alarm calls caused by the downed power lines the firefighters are standing

next to. But the Wife actually came up with the number one worst place to

be when a Hurricane hits and the power goes out: trapped in school with a

bunch of teenagers.�

Think about it; you may only have one or two teenagers at the house, and

you don't see them all the time.�Teachers have 30 teenagers for eight

hours a day. Can you imagine what happens when the power goes out?�We really

don't pay our teachers enough.

[Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and

Emergency Services. He can be reached at [email protected].]