Chapter Five And now, in the manner of Moby Dick, a brief hiatus, being a history a certain dude reclining in his manse on the spacious property of a nearby Christian University having made a threat whereby if the government did not change its ways, it would be struck with a natural disaster of biblical proportions and the eventual tale of Hurricane Isabel coming to Virginia Beach sent by the Almighty, no doubt, to teach the idiot some humility and mess up his campus and an inquiry as to whether it is possible to, in the event of any similarly arrogant person antagonizing God, to sue aforesaid bigmouth for damages sustained by nearby properties? Or do we all just have to eat it on this one? Now, why would anyone want to live in the Outer Banks? Rumor has it that the winds there are in constant flux, so that if there was ever a nuclear war, the fallout would not settle on the occupants and they would therefore be free of radiation poisoning and survive and live on to repopulate the earth as deserving of the superior beings that they are. But if nuclear war never happens, then they have really been wasting their time and money, because hurricanes keep slamming the area and pulling houses down. Tom usually doesn't watch TV, and definately not the weatherman, because they never seem to get it right. But for some reason he felt like watching the weatherman just when Hurricane Isabel was a little stormy thing in the Atlantic Ocean. That thing is coming for us. What makes you think that? Sandi had asked. They either hit the Outer Banks or Florida. Sometimes they hit Louisiana and go up the Mississipi. They never hit here. One did, a long time ago, said Tom. It made Willoby Spit. Now there are houses on Willoby Spit. Boy, I wouldn't buy one there. And Tom was right. It came up the coast, and picked up speed. From the looks of it, it was going to graze the Outer Banks and hit Virginia BEach dead on. The military agreed with Tom's point of view. They ordered all the planes on Langely Air Force Base and at Oceana Naval Air Station to fly to Grissom. They ordered the evacuation of the Army bases of Ft. Monroe and Ft. Eustis. The Norfolk Navalbase and Little Creek Amphibious Base sent all of its ships and submarines out to sea. Old Dominion University ordered all of its students to evacuate their dorms and fly home. All the public schools closed, saying that they would reopen in a week's time. You could watch the TV and see scrolling below of all the private schools and businesses that were going to be closed until further notice. Everyone that had waterfront property were told that these areas were mandatory evacuation areas. Days before the Hurricane hit, the six lanes of 64 westbound was a parking lot. You could hear the probation officers on the phones, making hotel reservations forhotels in the western part of Virginia. Before they shut down the office, they put the computers up on the tables and covered them with plastic bags. Off the floor due to possible flooding, covered due to a possible leaking roof. Sandi left a new voicemail recording saying that the office would be closed until further notice. The courts already had been closed and out of session for two days. Sandi and Tom were the last to leave the office, wednesday evening at 4pm and now officially closed. They flipped the circuit breakers to turn everything off, and locked the front and side doors after putting up signs on the doors that the office was closed until further notice, and if one had a question, to call and leave a voice mail message. "You got a motel room?" asked Sandi. "Naw. I'm riding it out." Sandi left Tom and looked up into the sky. It was light gray, and there were large curved bands colored dark gray across it. If one were to look at it from high up, like a satellite, it would be rings.Since the storm was so huge in size, the part of the rings she saw looked like partial rings, or curved bands. There were about five of them. And it was very windy. About 45 miles per hour already. The storm itself was at 150 mph. Trees bent and swayed and leaves tore off. The suspended traffic lights swayed. She got into her truck and got out her map. She had already seen I-64 two days ago, when it was a parking lot, when most of the people had already evacuated. She feared it would be bad again, and she would be caught in the holocaust. So she took a route that actually drove her into the storm for a bit,a route heading for Virginia Beach,before it swung south and ran along the whole southern part of virginia. It was a country road, but a straight shot west. She was fortunate that it was quite deserted and she traveled at good clip in the howling wind. The truck bucked alot but she hung onto the steering wheel and the scouring rain took off a layer of paint, she was sure. She stopped at a McD's at about six oclock and checked her oil level. They were still open saying that they would close at seven. The supermarkets were already closed. Then she continued on. When she got to about the middle of the state, she looked for a motel with a vacancy. She pulled into one at ten oclock, and there was a room available. It was a nice room, and she slept. At seven in the morning,she awoke and went outside. The wind was even more horrible now. In the night, the hurricane had gained on her. She checked out and continued west. After some hours, she stopped at a gas station and made a phone call to West Viginia. I don't know if you can make it, said the lady at the hotel. I heard that the roads between you and here are all flooded out. Well, I have a truck, replied Sandi. Good luck, said the lady. SAndi drove and drove in the pounding rain. It was raining and windy across the whole state of Virginia. She made it to her motel room and when she arrived and told the lady where she had come from, the lady said: "All your neighbors are here." The whole eastern part of Virginia had fled to the land west of Richmond or they had actually crossed the border into West Virginia. As it gets hilly west of Virginia, it was as if the residents of the plain had fled to the mountains. The holocaust had not overtaken her. But even there, the hurricane made itself felt. It knocked down a tree over a power line and threw her motel into darkness for two hours. And this was when the eye of the hurricane made landfall in Virginia beach, five hundred miles away. In the morning, Sandi went out and saw a couple of fallen trees. Should she begin the jouney home, or stay here? Would they have electricity back on, and food and water? She tried calling people back home, but the phones were dead. Back home she had a grill and charcoal and bottled water. And there was food in the freezer, probably now beginning to thaw out. She thought that she would return. But if it were too awful, that she would come back to West Virginia and safety. This time she took the same road that she had come by and she stopped at a town. There were lines at the gas pump. She asked what was going on. It seemed that the Hurricane had hit Virginia Beach, then moved over Richmond, downgraded to a tropical storm, and then went north to the District of Columbia as a gentle rain. But it had knocked out all power in the eastern half of the state, and this included the areas below and above Richmond. And it seemed that the gas stations needed electricity to pump gas. But since there was no electricity, there was no gas. Except for some gas stations that had gas-powered generators. Hence the lines at these stations. Sandi filled up and put some in a spare plastic jug and she traveled up I-95. The storm had knocked down a tree across the road every couple of feet. Bulldozers had pushed them off the road so that cars could pass. The sides of 95 were lined with logs. And cars that had run out of gas. Hundreds of cars. She got onto 64 and it was the same story. When she got back to her apartment, trees had crashed into the roofs of several of the units, and rain was pouring into these apartments. Sandi was glad she had gotten a ground unit. Trees had fallen and crushed cars. Some trees had fallen onto houses, rolled off and then crushed the cars parked next to the houses. It looked like 30 percent of the forest was knocked down. Power lines lay across roads everywhere. Virginia got volunteers from everywhere to put back up the power lines. Even people came from Canada to help put back up the lines. Even with this help, many people did not get electricity back into their homes until a week later. Even a month later, some people were complaining that their cable service had not yet been restored. Since there was no electricity, the schools remained shut. The TV's were dead, and Sandi listened to what was going on by battery-powered radio. the radio spoke of places where one could buy gas, and ice for one's thawing food. None of the supermarkets were open, and all of their frozen produce and milk was spoiled. Eventually some supermarkets opned in the days to come, and they put long yellow ribbons in front of their freezers, saying that none of it was for sale, as it was thawed out. Now, you would think that the military bases would have emergency power, wouldn't you? Maybe they do, but not in the commissary. Sandi went there and saw the dead lobsters in the tank. Since she lived near a hospital, she was in a critical zone, and so they restored power in her area after bout three days. Other people had to wait longer. No food in the supermarkets, no safe food to eat in the restaurants, her food thawing out...Sandi thought that if it continued like this, she would go back to West Virginia and wait it out. She poured the charcoal briquets on her grill and cooked her chicken first. The following day she cooked the rest of the chicken. The third day she cooked the steaks. By that time,the refrigerator was totally warm, and nothing in it was safe to eat. She went about by candelight. When she ran out of briquest, she went into her back yard and got pinecones to burn. then she thought she might venture out and visit Tom. The trip went okay untilshe came across a road that still had a giant tree laying across it. So she had to turn around and find another way to go. She saw the power crews, trying to restore power to the rest of the city. she got to Tom's apartment, and he came out, and he was smiling. Man, you should have been here, he said. The trees were actgually jumpgin up and down in place. for awhile there, I thught the roof was going to go. I imagined that the walls were actually swaying. Everything was creaking. What have you been eating? Well, I tried warming some veenie weenies over a candle, but all I got were sooty veenie weenies. then I tried warming some pop tarts with a flashlight. Pathetic. And they say men make better cooks. Then I rmembered that I had a japanese hibachi in the back yard, and the storm knocke down a lot of limbs, so there was the firewood... and I had a lot of cans of food. Ah, a man, a can and a plan. Wasn't there a best seller called that? and I have his book. And I was cooking in the cans, too. What happened to plates? You have to wash them. there is no running water. Before the stome hit, I got some bottled water, and I filled up my bathtub. Ah. You still have no runnning water? What are you doing about showers? I'm standing out in the rain. Have you thought about returning to work yet? My phone still doesn't work. why not? Well, it has an answering machine, and the answering machine requires power from Vepco. Here, said Sandi, I have an extra one in my truck. She brought out a nine dollar princess phone with a cord wrapped around it and they plugged it into tom's kitchen wall. They got a dial tone. One of these days, I'm going to have to get a cell phone. I dunno. I hear their tower is down. Sandi went out to Tom's back yard. It was waterfront, and she could see where the water had come half way up the yard. Because it had deposited junk on his lawn up that far. Tennis balls, fishing lures, ballcaps, you name it. There was even a park bench on his beach. What happened to the big plastic barbie swimming pool that you had your goldfish in? andi asked. I dunno. I don't see it anywhere around. they looked at the lake. Since it was made of plastic, it should be floating. Sandi could imagine a scened from the Wizard of Oz, the hurricane whipping around and around, and there was the witch on her bicycle, a cow, and big pink plastic barbie wading pool full of goldfish, flying around. Langely AFB, just down the road, did not announce any report of a big pink flying saucer with Barbie written on the side. The next day they went into work, and it was hilarious. Many of the officers still did not yet have electricity restored. Or running water. Or the water had been restored and they had been cautioned that their water was not safe to drink yet. So There were folks who obviously hadn't showered in a while. There were folks who had showered in cold water, and they came to work, their hair was still wet. It was towel-dried, but how were they to dry the towel? Clothes that had been hand washed in tubs, but not yet dry. How were they to dry them? And iron them? They looked wet, cold, rumpled and miserable. Sandi loved it. She heard them screaming on the phones: "So and so got power back three days ago. How come I still don't have any power?" They sent comical email messages to each other. The first day, it is quality time with your kids. The second day of no nintendo and no TV, it is grating on your nerves. The third day of no hot food, you begin to bum off of your neighbors and many friendships are made. The fourth day of no showering or shaving, as you begin to resemble a neanderthal, you grunt at yourneighbors and contemplate clubbing them over the head for their food. AS a final note, the Head Probation Officer ate at a restaurant and got the runs. "What were you thinking!" Exclaimed Sandi. "YOu know It won't be safe to eat at any restaurant for at least two weeks, minimum." For those who don't understand the problem with tom's phone... The phone company provides its own electricity to run its phones. So you could have a total blackout in your house, tv, lights, air conditioning, all out, and your phone would still light up and work. Tom's phone was out because part of it, the answering machine part, needed Vepco power and that was blacked out. But Sandi's simple princess phone just ran on telephone electricity and so it worked. Before Tom had the automotive job at the Dealership he had a job working in an arts and crafts store, in the back, as a framer. He was hired to fill the slot of a framer who had just left for North Carolina. He never saw the fellow, but his coworkers described him as “looking like JC”. They said he had been quite good with wood working, skillful at cutting and joining wooden frames. But the store had a policy of trying to entice the customer into buying frames that they really did not need. Tom was told by his coworkers that the store could no way stay afloat by bored housewives buying little bits of ribbon and fake plastic beads from China- that the frame shop was what kept the store open. So, a little old lady might bring in her little needlepoint for a simple little frame and be talked into a baronial monster consisting of 8 custom cut mats and three stacked frames of carved angels, gold leaf and linen liner and non-glare glass, the whole affair weighing 100 pounds and requiring three people to carry it out to her car. Tom was expected to start pulling out mats and frames and stacking them around the piece or print, pushing some bull about how all the colors brought out this guy’s eyes off in the corner or that section of sky and to start treating the customer as a ne’er do well bum if he had to start putting mats and frames back on the wall. This behavior was further reinforced by the store printing up weekly statistics on those who had sold the most stacked frames, the most mat board, the most overall sales, etc. Tom didn’t mind selling such crap to the rich person with money to blow. But there were folks who were obviously living on a tight budget. And besides, Tom thought a piece with more than three mats looked ridiculous. Now, this store did not give commissions. What they gave a big seller was more hours. So if instead of selling $500 a week you sold $10,000 a week, your $160 a week paycheck ($8 times 20 hours) might be increased to $168 ($8 times 21 hours). Lucky you. Eight whole dollars more for bringing into the store thousands. Tom really had no problem bringing in big numbers, because Tom had a good eye and a good sales style. In fact, customers would complain to Tom that the other framers were being rude to them. And Tom did some favors for the really down and out, which disgusted his coworkers. Like one bag lady who found a broken frame in a dumpster and hoped to sell it at her flea market stand. Tom went back into the shop and brought out some wood glue, glazier points, Windex, new wire, filler wax, and proceeded to make the frame presentable. When he went back into the shop, his coworkers- who had spent the time goofing off, turned around and snickered. “How do you know that she was really rich, and was taking you for a ride? Sometimes the really rich wear the cheapest clothes.” “I’ll guess we’ll find out at the Last Day,” replied Tom. But as much as they disliked Mr. Goody Twoshoes, they couldn’t succeed in getting him fired because one time, in a four hour period, Tom brought in $2,000 worth of sales by himself. The store manager came back and shook his hand. And when the quarterly report came in, Tom’s store had beaten out the other stores in the region. And then the snicky kids proved their real worth the Sunday before Christmas, when one decided to drink all night and couldn’t come in the next day, another didn’t read the schedule and the on-call turned his cell phone off. So it was Tom, all alone, answering phones, selling frames to lines of people, finishing customer orders, cutting glass, opening shipments all by himself for eight hours. The kids got written up. The manager gave Tom a raise to $8.50. Lucky Tom. One summer as a teenager, Tom was doing an Internship at the Smithsonian cleaning fossils. Many folks from Yale were there. sniff. Some friends of a professor came in and began to pepper Tom with questions. They asked for his last name. But evidently they were inbred so tightly that they had hearing problems. So they said: “Broome? As in the Broomes of Cincinnati?” And they wanted to know if it was the Broomes who came over on the Mayflower or the Broomes who were the descendants of George Washington’s cousin or sister or whatever. When it was discovered that Tom was descended from Hungarian immigrants of Ellis Island, they wanted nothing more to do with him, and went off to do something important. Important people need to be doing important things. Now, Tom once met an interesting fellow at a dinner party in Boston. The fellow was off by himself, sitting in a big chair and utterly stoned on something. Tom came over and pulled up an ottoman and sat down and scrutinized him. The fellow was about twentyish, very pale, very thin, with long blonde hair that was parted in the middle and came down on the sides. He looked like those dudes on the playing cards. The two got to talking. The dude said that he was from England, that his dad was in the House of Peers, and that many in the House of Peers are illegitimate descendants of royalty. That the kings of England screwed around a lot with gals other than the queen. And that he was an illegitimate descendant of King Edward II. Now, the dudes in power now in England, Queen Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales are not English. They are Germans, descendants of the House of Hanover. They were invited over to England to rule after the reign of William and Mary to replace English kings like James, Henry and Edward. So here sat a dude, claiming to be a descendant of one of the original kings of England, and indeed, looking like a twin to the dude carved in stone in the tomb at Gloucester cathedral in England. He looked exactly like Edward II, right down to the page-boy hair style, like some genetic throwback, sitting in a big chair in Massachusetts, stoned out of his gourd. Tom smiled. “So, your Majesty,“ said Tom from his ottoman, “Are you for the war, or against it?” “I’m against it,” the dude replied. Tom got up. “There you have it!” He exclaimed to no one in particular, and went back to the party. So, if the dude’s claim was true, then the true King of England had time for the Barteks of Ellis Island. Tom decided to try his hand at driving a taxi. Harrowing, you say? Let me tell you what harrowing is. One time Tom was driving a car that belonged to one of his friends. It was a mustang, and an older carbureted version where one could monkey around with the idle and mixture screws. His friend had messed with one of the screws in order to make the mixture really lean, as a gas-saving economy measure. Too lean, really. The engine kept cutting off. Now, this car had a fun feature that when the engine cut off, the steering wheel would lock. Who was the idiot who thought of this! So there is Tom, driving down the superhighway going at 60 mph and about to take the exit ramp. He slows down by taking his foot off of the accelerator and enters the exit ramp that is built on a steep cliff. Because Tom’s foot is off the accelerator, the car is not getting enough gas and the engine stalls. And the wheel locks. Going now about 45 mph barreling straight ahead at the cliff. Do you think you can break the car to a total stop with only maybe fifteen feet to the edge of the cliff? So Tom grabs the ignition key, turns it to the second position (not the third- that engages the starter motor!) to start the car by compression, presses his foot on the accelerator to give it gas. The car restarts, the steering wheel unlocks and Tom is able to turn the wheel just in time to hug the curve of the exit ramp maybe at about 50 mph and so escapes unscathed. Tom was just a teeny bit furious at escaping a stupid death and said so to the owner. Adjust that damn mixture screw back to manufacturer specs, will you! Tom fumed. Did the owner do anything about it? No. Several days later, his brother dies in this car, probably due to the exact same problem. So, no stranger to driving, Tom got a job driving a taxi. The company was owned by Arab Muslims. Now, the author does not care for the Muslim religion. For one, she thinks it discriminates against women. And that it is cheerless and puritanical. However, when Tom was employed by these guys, he thought they were downright comical. It was like they were somebody’s idiot relatives. The dispatcher called everyone by cell phone and my, did he ever know the area. He could tell Tom what streets to be on to get to his destination. But Tom kept a map in the cab anyway. And what a cab it was. Now, Tom’s truck was a four cylinder, with no radio and with no air conditioning. It accelerated like there were hamsters running on treadmills: 60 mph in about 60 minutes. (Some cars, like the Lamborghini, do this in 4.5 seconds). You felt every bump in Tom’s truck. And rust was visible in many places. Now, the cab the Muslims gave for Tom to drive was a big gold American Cadillac. With plush gold interior. And eight cylinders under the hood. And air conditioning and a top notch stereo system. That baby took off like a rocket, the air conditioning was enough to freeze you, bumps went unfelt and the stereo system rocked his world, especially when he caught Stairway to Heaven on the satellite radio and cranked it up on Blaupunkt speakers. It was a magic carpet ride. And they let him run personal errands in the thing. Tom washed and vacuumed it daily and cleaned it out after every fare. (Like if they had left a newspaper behind). He picked up people going to the Opera, and they said things like: “Do you suppose if we call this cab company again, that we will get this same car again?” One bright day Tom was feeling hungry and he drove by that restaurant where the ladies wear only t shirts and short shorts. You know the restaurant I am talking about. Well, Tom felt like oysters and clams. So he parked his ride and went in to order. TV’s all over, and all of them tuned to a sports event. Suggestive posters all over. The ladies left their groping customers and the leering lechers and came over and surrounded the virginal Tom. He talked to them politely, while waiting and thinking to himself: I hope ol’ Sauly or Mohammed or Hassan don’t find out that I was here! He thought. When Tom became a Fed, he was on top of the world. He went out and bought the best clothes, and the typical beige trench coat. Aviator sun glasses. Wing-tip oxfords, like James Bond wears. Rolex watch. But there isn’t much chance of showing off your new duds to your old friends, because you have to get rid of your old friends. They’re not cleared, and in a party with them after a few drinks you might slip and say something classified, so Tom’s new friends impressed on him the necessity of breaking old ties. And heavens, there were enough events and parties with Tom’s agency buddies to keep him well occupied. Two martini lunches. Friday night happy hour. And bridge games in the evening at the homes of work associates. The schedule is such that indeed, there is no time for TV or the newspaper. And one soon learns that the foreign news portrayed in the TV or newspaper is pure crap anyway. For instance, word might go out through the agency that a certain foreign dignitary said something to one of our governmental officials. But in the newspapers, it might report the exact opposite of what he said. And there were insider tips, such as when a stock was about to go up or down. It really was a closed world. But really, too closed. For instance, if you said “Star Trek” or “Facebook” or “Jay and Silent Bob” to a fed, many would not know what you were talking about, being totally ignorant of the popular culture. But let me tell you, the fed are well treated. They have their own post office, own banks, own commissaries so there is no waiting in line like the slobs in the outside world. And they get the best medical care, insurance coverage and benefits plans. You get to feeling like you are someone special, like a Prince. Indeed, there is a saying among feds: ” The cream always rises to the top.” And lots of feds think they are descended from British royalty. Yawn. So, Tom got swept up in this world and was, to put it simply, feeling pretty good about himself. Maybe a little too good. One bright day he was walking down the middle of the sidewalk, strutting even, thinking about how superior he was to the mass of humanity when a strange thing happened. He blacked out. When next he opened his eyes, he was laying in the muddy gutter out in the street, looking ridiculous. His palms had gravel on them and his knees were muddy. He looked back at the sidewalk, wondering what he had tripped on. He had no memory of tripping on anything. He had no memory of throwing his hands in front of him to break his fall. It was: walking tall one second, laying in the gutter the next second with no events in between. What! Am I beginning to experience seizures? He wondered. When he got back onto the sidewalk, he took stock of his situation, brushing himself off, examining his hands to look for cuts, etc. He took a step forward and felt a really sharp pain in his ankle. He yelled out in his mind. Then the pain eerily faded away. He took another step, and there was no pain. Hm! He thought. What happened to the pain? Did I sprain something or not? Evidently not, because nothing was hurting now. He continued to walk his muddy self up the sidewalk to work. Afterwards, whenever the other feds began to brag about their important role, Tom remembered what happened to him the last time he himself had grandiose thoughts and sighed.