Windy Warm-Up

I downed my beer and pondered the size of my car. Between my clothes, stuffed fox collection, and boyfriend, something would have to be left behind. BF is one unwieldy, space-hoggin' dude. Hmmm.

"So, why are we having a party for hurricanes?" I asked Tracy Sussman, the trim, blond Red Cross branch manager. "Hurricanes wreak havoc and leave devastation in their wake. My God, grocery stores actually run out of milk."

"We're not celebrating hurricanes," Tracy said, a small take-no-prisoners smile crossing her expertly lined lips. "Fifteen percent of the profit made in admission and drinks will go to the Red Cross — and we help with hurricane relief."

I felt momentarily reassured by Tracy's calm face and layers of bright blond hair — until it started pouring.

Patrons: I found a spot to wait out the rain, safely protected by the awning that was supposed to protect a half-dozen or so hotel-room doors. A well-dressed couple had escaped from the uncovered tiki bar area to the same spot — the guy in plastic-rimmed glasses and slacks, the woman a put-together blond in a pink-collared shirt.

"From what I've heard about hurricanes, I might as well leave the state," I complained.

"Nah, a hurricane's actually kind of like a campout," said Mike, who likes to describe himself as an "aging young man." "During a hurricane a few years ago, she went north and I stayed to hold down the fort. It was like being a bachelor on spring break again. All the men got together and had cookouts."

"You bailed on him?" I asked Mike's wife, Terri.

She shrugged. "One hurricane, Francis maybe, threw a ceiling fan into the neighbor's garage door. Impaled it. These things are serious — flooding, power-outs, property damage."

"So what blows most about hurricanes?" I asked.

"Damage and disaster," Mike said. "Having to stand in line to get ice."

"I've gone to the grocery store and seen people fight over a loaf of bread," Terri said.

"I'm moving home to Texas," I announced.

"Nah, you get tornadoes there," Terri said. "At least hurricanes you see coming."

I considered my options. "I've never heard of a tornado party," I said.

Perhaps Mother Nature was pissed about the hurricane kickoff party, because the rain didn't seem to be slowing. As I tried to wring out my notebook, I wondered where I could buy batteries in bulk. I saw Glenn heading through the rain to the other tiki bar area, which had a larger covered sitting area.

"You said a few drops!" I yelled at him, pushing a piece of wet hair out of my face.

"This is a few drops," he said.

"No, this is a torrential downpour!" I said.

"Nah," he said, smiling.

Why do I get the feeling I ain't seen nothing yet?