My husband will tell you I suck at emergencies. If by “suck” he means I stand around doing nothing until someone else steps in and fixes the problem, he’s right.
The incident with the water main
One day I got it into my head to mow the paddock above the house. I discussed the idea with my husband, and our conversation went something like this.
Him: Make sure you don’t mow the hose.
Me: I won’t. I know where it is.
Him: Really don’t mow it, because you do things like that.
Me: I said I won’t.
The hose had once lain on the ground in full view, but since then two feet of grass had happened, and now it was as well concealed as an ant in an anthill.
I marched forth with my mower and ranks of grass fell before our might. We were invincible.
I was mid-conquer battling a virgin clump when I remembered the hose. I backed up, and in front of the mower a massive fountain of water shot into the air.
Yes, it was a high pressure water mains pipe I’d mowed. Don’t ask me what it was doing sitting in the paddock. I want to say irrigation.
As my husband tells it, I came inside soaking wet, covered in mud and grass, and said, “Don’t get mad…”
He wasn’t keen to take this sage advice.
This was just one demonstration that when the unexpected happens I’m a champion at standing around being useless. Fortunately I have a husband to call the plumber.
The new plan
I consider myself a fairly smart person, and it occurs to me that next time an emergency happens I can be better prepared.
If you’re expecting a disaster, you want to stock up on the right equipment, which I’ve talked about before, but you also need a game plan. I need to think about possible calamities, and come up with a plan for what I would do if each occurred.
Then in an emergency there’s no new thinking involved. Clever right?
Emergency 1: Zombie apocalypse
I have to address the elephant in the room first. True, no one can really be prepared for the zombie apocalypse, but a bit of forethought could go a long way.
In a zombie apocalypse you have one immediate priority: avoid being bitten.
Zombies don’t have sophisticated technology, so it’s just their teeth you need to protect against. I reckon this would stop them:
So my first move in the zombie apocalypse is to don my chain mail. Admittedly, this would work better if I had chain mail, but it’s on my birthday list, so fingers crossed.
A chain mail coif would make decent neck protection. Failing that, a motorbike helmet with a visor. I don’t have one of these either, but I figure in the chaos of the apocalypse I’ll have no trouble stealing one.
One I’m safe inside my steel shirt, I’ll have plenty of time to plan my next move. Apocalypse conquered.
Emergency 2: Velociraptor on the loose
This could be problematic, because it’s been quite some time since I brushed up on my Jurassic Park.
I am sure velociraptors can’t fly, I’m pretty sure they can’t climb as well as I can, and they’re bigger than me (I think–I’m a bit hazy on this one).
Thus my first move when the velociraptors escape is to grab my laptop and go somewhere high and precarious, preferably through a small trapdoor.
Once safely there I will sit down and watch Jurassic Park, being sure to take notes on the salient points.
The movie will calm my nerves and get me in a rational frame of mind, as well as filling my head with what I’m sure is entirely accurate velociraptor lore. I will thus be perfected equipped to handle the emergency.
Emergency 3: Snakes on the plane
Whenever I fly, the plane filling with psychopathically murderous deadly poisonous snakes is my biggest concern. Next time I fly, I’ll be equipped with an exact plan of what to do when this happens.
The priorities in this situation are twofold. First, keep the pilot alive long enough to land the plane. Second, stay alive until the plane lands.
Luckily, snakes lack opposable thumbs and have limited manual dexterity.
Assuming the snakes don’t materialise in the cockpit, keeping the pilot alive is simply a matter of checking the cockpit door is closed and informing him or her not to open it until rescue crews have removed the snake threat.
I believe a statement to the effect of, “Don’t come out. The plane is full of deadly poisonous psychopathic snakes,” would suffice.
If she has half a brain, she’ll understand the importance of landing the plane and getting help.
In terms of staying alive myself, sitting in my seat with my feet on the floor is the worst position to be in, because everyone knows snakes use the space under the seats as a highway.
A toilet (lavatory, you Americans) should be fairly safe, but I have a better plan: climb in one of the overhead bins and close the door. It might be cramped, but the snakes aren’t going to get me there.
Oh, I’m supposed to try to keep everyone else alive too? Gee, you ask a lot. Well, there are more overhead lockers, and I might be willing to share mine if you smell nice and don’t kick.
Snakes on a plane solved.
Emergency 4: Attack of the killer bees
Killer bees are made out to be much more serious than they really are.
Clearly the first step is to get inside and close the doors and windows. I don’t care how deadly killer bees are. They’re not breaking through the glass.
The important thing I need to remember is the fireplace. I don’t know for certain bees can get down the chimney and into the living room, but I don’t know they can’t.
My solution is cling film. Wrap it around the fireplace until every possible bee entry point is covered.
Killer bees conquered. I just have remember not to light the fire.
What are your plans for emergencies?
By the way, this is my fiftieth blog post. I never imagined I’d make it this far.
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