Today, I am sitting at a patio table outside of a Cosi. As I am taunted by the blinking cursor on a blank page, a gust of wind carried a shred of paper across my table. I started to crumple it up and then realized it was a discarded fortune cookie message that read, “Get to the point and keep it clear and simple.” (Also, “gooseberry” in Chinese is “mi hou tao” and my lucky numbers are 10, 53, 51, 54, 15, 36. If you win the Powerball, I expect a cut. Extra points if you find a way to weave “gooseberry” into your winner’s press conference.)
While today is sunny and pleasant, the past few days in Philadelphia have been anything but lovely. A large, slow-moving weather system dumped five to six inches of rain on the area in just two days. Although it should seem obvious, a city built along a river doesn’t fare so well under that much precipitation.
Since moving to Philly, I have worked part-time for a small medical office in the heart of Manayunk. The practice is owned by two of the most genuine, caring, and empathetic people I have ever met and these characteristics visibly carry over to their patients and employees each day. They truly live to help and heal.
On Wednesday night, one of the docs left me a frantic voicemail. The river behind the office was only a foot from the back door. A small team of us rushed into the office, stacked everything we could off of the floor, and boarded, sealed, and sandbagged the doors. While inside the office, the river crested its banks and the water began to seep under the doors. In under three hours, the water on Main Street rose from an inch to waist-deep. Luckily, we had to wade only a few hundred yards through the cold, sewage-smelling water (Yay, Leptospirosis!) to reach higher and dryer ground. Just an hour later, the few remaining cars parked nearby were completely submerged.
Despite the preparation efforts, the river won. The office filled up with over three feet of water, and everything that had been stacked began to float and fall into the water below. As the river receded, the office drained and amongst the outside debris, carp were swimming around in the remaining pools of water. Aside from the fish, which were returned to the river, the building interior and its contents were completely destroyed. Although many of the neighboring businesses and houses suffered a similar fate, fortunately there were no injuries.
While loss of property is a headache, it is admittedly not a big deal, as flood insurance will foot the bill. But the ripples of just one event will certainly travel. Patients relying on the expertise and specialized skills of the practice will be put on hold as the docs search for a temporary space and make necessary house calls. And the employees who depend on the practice for their livelihood will be without income for a month or two. As this is just one example, it is hard to comprehend the gravity of the situation when disasters happen on a much larger scale.
As I initially laughed that the fortune cookie message was just a snide commentary on my writing style, I flashed back to the past few days and realized one clear and simple point: life can change at the drop of a hat (or at many drops of rain). One minute, we were drinking a beer and watching the Flyers. The next minute we were ass-deep in moving water.
The beauty (or tragedy) is in how sudden and drastic change is handled. Do you bitch and whine about your misfortune? Or do you recognize your stuff is replaceable and start rescuing stranded fish from puddles? I guess that is up to you.
