Where were you when the power died?

Three years ago today, some time around 4 ‘o’ clock, I was home early with chronologically confused morning sickness, kicking back, watching some Xena, Warrior Princess. Then, the fuse box in my crappy Lakewood standard apartment blew again. At least I thought that’s what had happened.

I called the boy, who was still working in Toledo during the week, and asked where the spare antique fuses were.

“No, I don’t think it’s the fuse box. The power’s out here, too.”

Shit. It’s August, it’s hot, I’m at that bitchy, sensitive and exhausted part of my first trimester, and the power’s out. I climbed into the camaro and turned on the radio: the power’s out everywhere. No one knows why yet, there are traffic jams everywhere, there are people stranded in major cities. Wonderful.

I drive around for a bit, avoiding accidents and appreciating the volunteer traffic directors at Clifton and 117 for saving me from some spectacular sideswipes. Giant Eagle’s not out of water yet, so I stock up and pay with a check, since I can’t use my card to pay, or to get some yuppie food stamps at the cash machine.

I get back to the duplex of horror to find my neighbors preparing for an impromptu block party. Since no one knew when the power would be back on, there were fridges of meat and beer that needed used before either got warm and skunky. We gathered candles, any beverages we had available, and sat on Anita’s porch talking and joking.

We sat on the porch, coming up with our own conspiracy theories about the blackout (It was terrorists! No, it’s just incompetence. Maybe the government forgot to pay the electric bill). We gossipped about the house where that doofus blew up the bigwheel, about “Slipper Lady”, and slowly wound down. More people from the neighborhood showeed up, each with a story: Steve had to walk down over 30 flights of stairs to get out of work, someone else barely got out of downtown on a bus.

I don’t think anyone went home until after at least midnight. We were having too much fun — at one point a group of us walked over to the drugstore, which was letting groups of five people in at a time, with flashlights, to buy… you guessed it, flashlights! Flashlights, water, and batteries actually. They had a middle-aged off-duty Lakewood cop manning the back door and a cardboard box to hold cash. It wasn’t exactly a high-security event.

I know there were plenty of people having fun that night, despite the lack of electronically-powered entertainment — let’s just say that I had plenty of people asking me if my bump was a blackout baby (no, she’s about two and a half months too early for that). For me it was just a hot and sticky night, worrying about a spouse a state’s length away and trying to keep cool in the dark.

Powered by Qumana