A few years ago, the North Coast had a Tsunami warning. The wave came out of nowhere, expected to wipe out Humboldt & Del Norte County, destroying even more property than our last huge tsunami in ’64. News of the coming wave dominated our television, my mother called me and told my roommates and I to pack up our belongings and drive far up into the hills, because maybe we would survive. So we grabbed the really important stuff, like our slim-fast bars, tiffany jewelry, and coach purses, put on 8 pairs of underwear and headed for the hills. We drove really far, past the point of cell phone reception. And we waited. And waited. For hours, we sat in the middle of the woods, wondering if our family members had escaped in time, and looking down at Humboldt Bay in a vain attempt to see if the black dots floating out there were bodies of lookieloos. Finally, when we still hadn’t seen a huge wave, we drove far enough towards town where I had a bar on my cell phone. I called my mom and asked her if she was okay and if an all-clear had been issued. She said the tsunami warning had only lasted 10 minutes, because the wave had«died» in the ocean. My friends and I had been in the hills for almost 4 hours. Thanks to the Weather Channel for making everything seem like a big freaking deal, with their flashing updates and wailing sirens of impending death.
