A View from the Florida Fishbowl During Hurricane Georges

My fear of sharks was not a strong enough deterrent to prevent me from embarking on a fishing outing whose sole purpose was to find sharks. That was not my idea of a good time, but I will admit the intrigue was there. Once we found a good spot and anchored the boat, the captain grabbed the bucket of chum (a gross concoction of fish stuff) and ladled it into the water. Within minutes, the frenzied sharks circled the bloody mess floating behind the boat. I had that same feeling on Friday, September 25, 1998.

The residents of the Southern half of Florida were preparing for Hurricane Georges to hit land. Mandatory evacuations were issued and people were buying out the stores in preparation for the potential destruction. I, just like many others, waited until the last minute to prepare. Stepping into the Publix on East Lake Road put me on that boat again. People were rushing around the store like sharks in a feeding frenzy. There was no shortage of pushing and shoving.

Standing in the corner, gripping the handle of the shopping cart - which by this time was sweaty - I observed the people around me. The shelves of canned goods were nearly empty and two women were standing in the middle of the aisle fighting over the last six-pack of Beefaroni. One woman was about 25 with bleach blonde hair and red talons for nails, while the other was around 50, in a conservative business suit and perfectly coiffed hair. They were just short of swinging at each other. Profanity was gushing out of the blonde's mouth like a sailor on shore leave after six months at sea and a bottle of whiskey. I knew they would come to blows soon. The older woman leaned forward and mouthed something to the younger woman, causing her to stop short. She let go of the cans and appeared momentarily disoriented. The older woman placed the Beefaroni into her shopping cart and with a smile on her face and a swish in her stride, strolled away from the obscene gesture (yep the middle finger) that the blonde woman was waving at her.

Having had enough of that scenario, I made my way to the deli. That's where all the action was. The mood was almost festive and there was an air of excitement, which struck me as odd, considering that if we got hit with a category three or four hurricane; the destruction would be astronomical. Again, I leaned on my shopping cart with pen and notebook in hand to take notes of my observations.

Several children were playing around the imported cheese cooler. A boy of approximately seven picked up a wheel of Gouda cheese and winged it at another child close to the same age. Wham! It smacked the poor kid right in the side of the head. He let out an earth-shattering scream and ran toward his mom. The poor woman was obviously stressed. By the time the boy got to her, the veins were bulging in her neck and a slick sheen of perspiration coated her face. In one very graceful and flowing move, she smacked the boy on the other side of his head and told him to knock it off. He was stunned, tears popping from bulging eyes.

Just as my number was called, I caught a rather funny sight out of the corner of my eye. When stepping up to the counter to order my subs, the vision of a huge woman with a chef's hat and a greasy apron tied around her ample body caused me to giggle. She was impaling chickens on rotisserie spikes. I had to chuckle, because she struck me as an evil version of Oliver Hardy. The majority of the people standing around the deli counter were looking at this woman, when she suddenly stuck her thumbs under her armpits and strutted around making chicken noises. The throng of people began laughing so hard that tears were streaming down many a face. Apparently, the two gay guys standing next to me didn't think it was all that funny. They were totally annoyed by the woman's actions. The man who made my sandwiches handed them to me and whispered a tired thank you.

Taking a final stroll through the store to observe a few more people, I detected a faint odor of sweat and soiled diapers. Surrounded by the worst of human nature, my resolve to try and make the best of the situation slowly ebbed away. Upon approaching the register, a loud clap of thunder filled the air and lightning shot through the sky with jagged perfection. The festive mood disappeared and again the body language of fear became prevalent. People were hurrying, huddled over, eyes darting back and forth, trying to get to safety before the downpour hit.

Everything in that store was chum - what we as humans felt we needed to beat nature - and we were the sharks. Weren't we being a bit presumptuous to think that bottled water and canned food would be an adequate weapon against the force of nature?