Should’ve listened to the Boy Scouts…
I’m currently huddled in the staff lounge of the Missouri River Regional Library in Jefferson City. There’s about 25 to 30 people crammed in here with me – though that’s only an estimate since people keep coming in and out and my attention span prevents me from trying to keep a detailed count.
A very short while back, a calm voice came over the library intercom and informed the library patrons that a tornado watch was in effect and that every should, please, go down to the basement of the library and take shelter against the far wall, thank you.
I was already in the subterranean level of the basement, working in the computer lab, though I frantically raced to save all the open document files I had open – and if you can imagine I had quite a few going.
Of the three disks I am now cradling in my lab – beneath Michael Crichton’s latest novel (“State of Fear”) and this notebook, I filled up two. I popped the last disk out of the drive before the light stopped flashing and the electronic chirping stopped, so I don’t know if I got everything.
I wish I could say this caught me unawares, but I did have warning. About 15 minutes ago, a man addressed two Boy Scouts sitting next to me at the computers. He said a bad storm was coming and informed two very disappointed boys that they were going home. Pleas for a debate were introduced and immediately denied and the three marched upstairs towards the parking lot. I noted the incident myself, but immediately went back to my own work before being guided back beyond the computer banks.
The chairs and couches down here have already all filled up. The plushiest chairs have gone to a circle of kids who have all been drawn back into their picture books. Some of the firmer arm chairs have gone to some older adults. Personally, I’ve opted for the tile floor with a backstop comprised of boxed printing stock (gotta love that “Bond #1” paper). Most of the library staff members are standing around, some occasionally ducking back upstairs to see if the clouds are still fearsome. They are.
Fortunately, in the age of cell phones, no one has to worry about being out of the loop (or being caught by an electrical charge should any of the heavy lightning choose to take a land-line course to the ground. People are networking, both sending out and receiving word of where everybody’s taking cover from the potential storm. I am tempted to “borrow” a call from somebody, but my parents use a land-line phone to stay connected, I don’t want to put them at risk. Also, at this point, I’m not worried enough about the storm to put myself through the trouble of asking a cellular someone.
Entertainment is readily available for some. In being herded into the back corner of the library, I heard people asking “Do I have time to check this out?” While they were not granted an opening at the counter, they were able to bring their selections with them. Others are rifling through old magazines left on one of the short end tables. Some students are finally starting their homework.
Gossip is entertaining, and illuminating too. From staff member’s experience, this is only the second time in the last four years people were asked to go into the library’s lounge – an area which is normally off limits to the public. One patron, upon hearing this, highlights his questionable luck by revealing the fact he was present at that occasion as well. The rarity of the tornado alert is blamed on Jefferson City’s geography. Being built along the river bluffs, the rolling hill effect often cancels out twisters – for they can’t go very far without the bottom sliding off from beneath them.
The most popular attraction, however, is the puppy. It’s a common sight to see a dog tied up, taking shaded shelter beneath a bench, by the entrance of the library. Animals, as a rule, aren’t allowed in. Though there is an exception in cases of potential tornados. “Look at the dog” is a commonly repeated comment, followed by wild gesturing at the brown, cavorting bundle of fur. He or she is actually behaving well for being surrounded by strangers in a familiar place. The elderly owner isn’t having to correct the pooch very often, which is good considering the worst case scenario.
Speaking of which, I wonder how the car is doing. It’s parked at a corner, removed from trees, but also catty-corner from a church that is currently undergoing renovation. It’s never a good situation when you have to ask yourself, “Did that church steeple look sturdy enough?”
It reminds me a similar question I had to ask myself while driving a work truck for the Department of Conservation. Some really honky-tonk back roads cross over waterways. Some are streams, some are shallow rivers. The risky dips are lined by caution signs saying, “Caution – Impassable During High Water.” You can always backtrack, but doing so may cause you to go 20 miles out of your way and lose up to an hour. It’s a strange sensation looking at a coursing river asking yourself, “How much did it rain today?”
I guess I state all this to say, I’m not that worried about the storm. Some of it is naivete, but having gone through these warnings so many times, I don’t get too anxious. Missouri is on the far end of “Tornado Valley” the windy corridor that cuts across the Midwest. We are not visited by twisters at the same frequency of say Oklahoma or Dorothy’s Kansas, but they’re still a familiar site. I’ve taken many unscheduled pit stops in basements of homes, offices, and other buildings. I’ve been outside during a microburst or two – holding onto the corner of a canvas tent that was bucking like a baby bronco.
Some kids are worried, asking their parents and each other if they think it’s going to be okay. I’m to the point where I no longer need the reassurance. It may be a false calm, but it’s the one I’m holding onto for the duration of this storm.
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Someone, I wager the head librarian announced that the storm had been downgraded to a severe thunderstorm. People could remain in the lounge if they wished, but otherwise people were free to leave. I slowly pulled myself up and ended up heading back to the computer station I’d left in a flurry.
As we walked out, the same lady gave people a smile and tried to point at the silver lining of the storm: “You got to see part of the library you never got to see before.”
I guess I got to see that and a little more.
And to think: those Boy Scouts missed it
said...
I am slightly confused. Everyone gets herded down to the basement for a tornado watch? I thought that was just when there was a possibility that tornados could develop. Isn't the tornado warning the big one to pay attention to?
Caleb Michael said...
Okay. Confession time.
I was only half listening when the big announcement came over the intercom. When you're speed reading four sites simultaneously, it's easy to miss a couple words.
I was paying close attention when the lady announced the whatever was downgraded to a "severe thunderstorm." I know it was a "tornado something" - I probably made a mistake when tring to recollect the totem poll of storm warnings. My bad.