Snowtober, part 2
I got back to Connecticut on the Tuesday after Halloween, hoping that the power would be restored but knowing that it wouldn't be.
During the day, it didn't look so bad, until I went inside the building, flashlight in hand. Cold and dark, like the building itself were dead. Handwritten notes taped to the door giving notice about shelters and ways to escape.
I walked up the dark stairwell, then back into the light streaming through the landing on the second floor. And then, back into darkness, since the fire doors all swung shut with no power to operate the magnets. Open the first door, and into darkness, then open another door. Kept thinking a zombie would be on the other side, but there was only the elderly woman from across the hall.
My apartment building is mostly seniors, so there was a lot of concern about where they'd go. Many of them stayed behind. Didn't feel like being bothered with a shelter, had all their meds, didn't care for cellphones. They bundled up and bore it. But if you grew up with the Depression and World War II hanging over your head, this spot of deprivation must have felt like nothing.
The leasing office had a generator running, and was offering cans of soup in the microwave and hot coffee. They also hired security to patrol the complex at night against theft and fire danger. Good to know I had that to come home to after work.
I was prepared to tough it out at home, but it turned out I didn't have to. My friend Chris' house in Marlborough had full power, heat and hot water; Chris moved to California a few months ago, but his house was still on the market and his girlfriend Gina was looking after the place. So we spent the week living there. Well, sorta. Gina worked daytime hours, and I work at night, so we barely saw each other except for the weekend.
It still felt like I was living in a zombie apocalypse film. Chris' house sits on a cul-de-sac in the woods of a flat area, and he has about six of everything. Along with doing laundry and enjoying a hot shower, there was a kitchen full of knives, a gas stove, likely some axes and guns somewhere, a stocked pantry, and workout equipment. Even had room for gardening in the back. I mostly read comics and tried to rest, but it was tough since every day I would drive back to my place to check up on things, then go to work, then go back to my place to check on things and then drive to Chris' house. I was on the road 2-3 hours each day.
At work, I saw the refugees. My fellow employees bringing their families in for showers and meals, the cafeterias always busy. Just odd. At night, I walked out into fog and the smell of smoke from everyone's chimneys.
When I'd return to my place at night, I'd have my flashlight with me -- a big honkin' police-issue Maglite -- that I held police-style, like a club with the bulb side down. Felt like I was breaking into my own place!
Those were my days and nights. But the Korean place had a generator, so I at least I had bi bim bab to munch on!
By Thursday, there was a generator by the transformer outside the complex, and my apartment had power on one circuit for the refrigerator and microwave and a light. The lights were coming back on in the businesses by my place. Every night I'd drive home hoping to see full power in my place, like Christmas morning. But, alas, nothing.
Such as it was until Sunday night, eight days later.
Even now it's odd to see lights on in West Hartford. Some blocks weren't restored until the following Wednesday.
But at least I gained one ting out of ordeal: Many of the nights were clear, and in the total darkness, this city boy laid eyes on the most stars in his life.
During the day, it didn't look so bad, until I went inside the building, flashlight in hand. Cold and dark, like the building itself were dead. Handwritten notes taped to the door giving notice about shelters and ways to escape.
I walked up the dark stairwell, then back into the light streaming through the landing on the second floor. And then, back into darkness, since the fire doors all swung shut with no power to operate the magnets. Open the first door, and into darkness, then open another door. Kept thinking a zombie would be on the other side, but there was only the elderly woman from across the hall.
My apartment building is mostly seniors, so there was a lot of concern about where they'd go. Many of them stayed behind. Didn't feel like being bothered with a shelter, had all their meds, didn't care for cellphones. They bundled up and bore it. But if you grew up with the Depression and World War II hanging over your head, this spot of deprivation must have felt like nothing.
The leasing office had a generator running, and was offering cans of soup in the microwave and hot coffee. They also hired security to patrol the complex at night against theft and fire danger. Good to know I had that to come home to after work.
I was prepared to tough it out at home, but it turned out I didn't have to. My friend Chris' house in Marlborough had full power, heat and hot water; Chris moved to California a few months ago, but his house was still on the market and his girlfriend Gina was looking after the place. So we spent the week living there. Well, sorta. Gina worked daytime hours, and I work at night, so we barely saw each other except for the weekend.
It still felt like I was living in a zombie apocalypse film. Chris' house sits on a cul-de-sac in the woods of a flat area, and he has about six of everything. Along with doing laundry and enjoying a hot shower, there was a kitchen full of knives, a gas stove, likely some axes and guns somewhere, a stocked pantry, and workout equipment. Even had room for gardening in the back. I mostly read comics and tried to rest, but it was tough since every day I would drive back to my place to check up on things, then go to work, then go back to my place to check on things and then drive to Chris' house. I was on the road 2-3 hours each day.
At work, I saw the refugees. My fellow employees bringing their families in for showers and meals, the cafeterias always busy. Just odd. At night, I walked out into fog and the smell of smoke from everyone's chimneys.
When I'd return to my place at night, I'd have my flashlight with me -- a big honkin' police-issue Maglite -- that I held police-style, like a club with the bulb side down. Felt like I was breaking into my own place!
Those were my days and nights. But the Korean place had a generator, so I at least I had bi bim bab to munch on!
By Thursday, there was a generator by the transformer outside the complex, and my apartment had power on one circuit for the refrigerator and microwave and a light. The lights were coming back on in the businesses by my place. Every night I'd drive home hoping to see full power in my place, like Christmas morning. But, alas, nothing.
Such as it was until Sunday night, eight days later.
Even now it's odd to see lights on in West Hartford. Some blocks weren't restored until the following Wednesday.
But at least I gained one ting out of ordeal: Many of the nights were clear, and in the total darkness, this city boy laid eyes on the most stars in his life.