My Harrowing Tale Of Earthquake Survival

Late last night I was industriously working away at my computer when I noticed the house swaying underneath me. As I looked at the monitor, I could see it swinging back and forth rather quickly. This continued for a minute or so.

My thought? "Man, I can't imagine what a houseguest would think, feeling this. You'd think the house was about to sag and give way."

But did I run? Did I panic and dive for doorways? Did I turn on the radio to find out if Armageddon was beginning?

Why no, of course not. I now know that what I was experiencing was residual tremor from an earthquake that had occurred some hundreds of miles away. While this is interesting to discover, it solves no mystery for me, as I never perceived one to begin with.

You see, my house does this all the time. Just gently sways, like a hammock in the breeze, rocking back and forth in a near soothing fashion. You should feel what happens when a big truck goes by. Our idea of structural integrity around here equals not having the floor give way under the shower while you're singing Ramones songs at the top of your lungs. Or not having too much plaster land on your head while you're brushing your teeth. Or being able to stuff enough towels under the back door to block that Arctic northern wind as it whistles through the gaps that show daylight. Or, of course, having the house stay standing through the passage of eighteen wheelers. Earthquake? What earthquake?

Maybe that would make a good game show: "Natural Disaster or Slum Landlord? You Decide!"