With Irma in our rearview mirror, most Central Floridians are recovered or rebuilding. Still, we all know it’s only a matter of time before the next disaster strikes.
After all, hurricanes, fires, floods, tornadoes and sinkholes are simply the trade-off Floridians make in exchange for the ability to dine al fresco in February.
The key is being prepared. So, to help, I’ve compiled a list of 10 tips Floridians can use for surviving the next apocalypse.
Play reverse-power bingo. The next time a monster storm is threatening, set up an office pool. Everyone puts in a few bucks. The last one to get power back, wins. Then, when it’s all over, you can say: “Well, we lost our roof. The stress prompted my wife to leave me. And mildew overtook the entire second story. But at least I have 63 bucks!”
A battery in hand is worth 24 in Amazon’s warehouse. I was inundated with emails from readers furious about Amazon not delivering hurricane supplies promised long before the storm hit. Trust me, I know. My supplies — promised three days before Irma came — didn’t arrive. I emailed myself a furious note as well. The response was rather unsatisfying, but still better than the one I got from Amazon, which simply said the storm (which hadn’t struck yet) complicated things. OK, but I didn’t pick the original delivery date. You did … which was the whole reason I ordered it.
Play games while watching The Weather Channel. Mine was to take a drink every time a field reporter said or did something stupid while standing in a typhoon. “I’m a tree hugger!” meteorologist Mike Seidel screamed as he wrapped his arms around a trunk, holding on for dear life. “And I weigh about 180 pounds … 6 feet tall!” I wasn’t sure whether he was covering the storm or updating his Match.com profile. Either way, I was drunk within 30 minutes.
Don’t get drunk. Because soon the power will go out. Official research shows this is 104.8 percent guaranteed in Florida. And it’s hard to navigate stairs and floodwaters when it’s dark and you’re tipsy.
Try not to have toddlers or teens during a crisis. Admittedly, this one is tough to plan. But my wife and I messed it up coming and going. We had toddlers during Charley and teens during Irma. Toddlers have a lot of needs. With teens, it’s more a matter of ennui. When the power went out, I grabbed the candles and board games, only to see four eyes roll by candlelight. “Are you telling me you’d rather lay in your hot, sweaty bed, staring at the dark ceiling than play a game with me?” I asked. They left for their hot, sweaty beds. At least, I think so. It was dark.
Understand that goodwill has an expiration date. Floridians are so remarkably good at helping each other. Truly, no one does it better … for about 72 hours. Then, we are sweaty, cranky and loaded for bear. By Wednesday, the streets of Orlando had morphed into a scene from Mad Max: Fury Road, with spike- and spear-adorned Cadillac Escalades blasting through powerless intersections. Friendly Facebook posts of happy families huddled in laundry rooms with captions like: “Cozy, happy and safe!” gave way to ones like “DUKE ENERGY IS RUN BY SATAN!!!!!!”
Need a hotel? Call or even visit. I know we’re all used to Orbitzing our way through life. But sometimes, when online reservations show no vacancies, a call — or even a visit — to the hotel can help you score that coveted room, hot shower and free continental breakfast buffet. (Bonus tip: If your hotel has a breakfast buffet, get there early, so you don’t hit the bottleneck that always forms at the make-your-own-Belgian-Waffle station — the crown jewel of buffet items. This isn’t just good Armageddon advice. It’s good life advice.)
Know your neighbors. With our OUC power out until Thursday, neighbors watched each other’s houses and kept in touch on text chains. In our clan, Larry kept us laughing. Deb kept everyone calm. And Michelle was our pit bull, pushing officials for answers. (Don’t mess with Michelle.) The bottom line: It’s good to know the folks around you before things go wrong.
Remember the kids. Yeah, I know I made fun of them earlier. But it’s important to remember that they’re stressed too. Their sense of normalcy gets rocked. Plus, they learn how to handle crisis based on how you handle crisis. I did swell … until that 72-hour period I mentioned up above. When a I rounded a corner to find a fallen tree blocking our route home for the third time, I exclaimed: “Son of a gun!” Except I didn’t say “gun.” I apologized to my son and told him I could do better. He said we were cool … as long as I didn’t make him play a board game.
Be patient. And grateful. Our motto was: A lot of people have it a lot worse than we do.
P.S. — When the power came back, my daughter invited friends over. The first thing they did? Play a board game.
smaxwell@orlandosentinel.com
