I have gotten so much crap about earthquakes.
It started when I moved out here, and R said "don't worry, we really don't get earthquakes that often". Exactly 9 days after my installment into the city, we are at the post office when one hits.
"Huh. Earthquake," R says in the voice most people use to announce rain, or the score of a baseball game they don't care about. I am frozen. I drop the pen I'm using and grip the sides of my chair as the post office sways and bucks like a ride at Disney Land. Only after the fact do I remember to look up to see if something is going to fall on my head. We have to leave the post office for 20 minutes or so, so I can collect myself enough to go back and finish my change of address form.
Earthquakes 2, 3, and 4 happen while we are in our apartment, which to be fair will sway if a mosquito buzzes by. Still, the second two earthquakes bring me right back to my chair-gripping, wide-eyed frenzy, complete terror in the foreground in lieu of safety and common sense. And then all I can say for the next 5 minutes afterward is "I hate those. I mean, I really hate those. Why do earthquakes have to exist? I hate earthquakes. I hate them". Only this last earthquake, a mere 3.3 from Marina Del Rey, is soft enough that I can lean against the counter and watch nonchalantly as the windows wave back and forth.
My other friends out here laugh at me, stating that anything under magnitude 5 isn't worth fussing over. "Just wait until we get another Northridge," they jeer as I shudder.
I'd love to see those same people deal with a tornado.
