I Survived Hurricane Rita and All I Got Was This Lousy Hangover

The sun rose on another glorious morning, breaking in a new day. I thought to myself, “It’s great to be alive,” as I sat comfortably with a smile on my face. Our luxury vehicle purred as it idled along with hundreds of its closest friends on FM 529. We hadn’t moved in over an hour, but it was nice. It gave me a chance to reflect.

Hurricane Rita was on its way to Houston. Mother Nature had blessed it with a little bit of wind, and since it was in the northern hemisphere, it spun clockwise. It was putting on quite the show in the gulf, but was making its way into the crowd to shake some hands. At first I was worried, but I was assured by the TV, radio, President, mayor, governor, FEMA, Red Cross, National Guard, and various weather experts that everything was going to be ok. They told me that there was no need for panic, as they stood out of harm’s way, putting their own safety before the lure of the story.

I had complete control of the dog, which was as calm as my mother was about a pet on her leather seats. I chuckled to myself as passengers took turns using the bathroom at the nearest gas station without fear of missing their ride.

Other cars began to use the turn lane and the shoulder to pass us, but I just figured they were more important and their needs superseded my own. Some might have considered their actions unethical or exploitation of more patient motorists. I, however, knew that the emergency situation affected them more, and the best I could do would be to sit quietly and wave with all five of my fingers. After all, in these times of crisis, we have to band together and help each other out.

And as the Mexican Americans flew by, sitting inside with ten or more of their friends and family, I thought to myself, “Santa Anna would be proud.” He used to always say, “Safety in numbers.” And “there’s always time for a nap.”

One lane of outbound traffic gave way to two, which gave birth to four, which expanded to five. Soon, six lanes of traffic headed west, while any other cars had a fun game of dodging to play with the fleeing Mack trucks. Packed neatly along a country road, as cars swerved on either side us, I thought of rainbows and gum drops and candy cane cities.

A clean convoy of Camry’s weaved its way through the crowd, making clever use of the extra “courtesy” lanes and each other to further themselves in the line. I made a mental note of it in case I was ever evacuating from a city of millions again. A shirtless man bounced along the other side of the car. I remarked about the haste of such a fat city, and we all laughed and laughed.

As we sped along at a cool 15 mph, we sang songs and feasted on the endless supply of snack foods and diet soda. A few times I got out and stretched my legs, just to keep the blood flowing. We all managed to stay perfectly calm, maintaining a collected manner in order to get through the ordeal the best we could. Once or twice we thought of turning around, but pressed on, inspired by Chance and Shadow in the family classic Homeward Bound.

After twelve hours of bonding, we reached our destination, uniting the family once again. I felt like one of the Planeteers, but I had left my heart ring at home and asked if we could go back for it.

During the weekend, as the hurricane tiptoed over the sleeping city, I stayed with a friend in a town that usually takes an hour to get to. Our hands tired after too much patty cake, so we wondered what to do. That reminded us of Dr. Seuss's “The Cat in the Hat,” which we took turns reading to each other. Then, out of options, we imbibed copious amounts of alcohol. (Which means we drank a shitload.)

The day after the storm, the sun rose on another glorious morning, breaking in the new day. So we hopped back in the car, ready to do it all over again.