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“Daaaamn!” I was drawling out to
myself in my southern fried accent, what to do, what to do, as I
reentered the restaurant, ok go calm David. Hey! There’s a
steak knife on that table, I need that and slipped it in my suit
pants pocket. It was one of those rounded point, politically
correct jobs, that although I was bitching about it not having a
usable point, but no… “oat meal beats no meal’ AND! I was
glad it wasn’t a worry to slide in my pocket. I had a knife. I had
an edge for multiple survival tasks I needed to perform soon. As I
opened the door to the bar, I thought about all the years of Risk
Communications I had studied, but studies didn’t prepare me for
what I had to do next and that steak knife in my pocket was a joke
if I thought it was the best advice I could give on how to get
through the crap hitting the fan I’d just witnessed.
Jack was grinning like a Cheshire cat when I
returned and said, “Ok, lemme see that key ring!”
I said, “Jack, poke Blake and come talk to me
over here, I got some SITRAP to share (situation report).”
Blake was giving Bill hell about never having
served in the military and objecting to Bills BS liberal, negative
attitude on FEMA`s response to Katrina, when a poke to the ribs got
his attention.
“WHAT!” Blake said, as he had slightly
alcohol induced steely daggers coming out his eyes in our
direction.
“David requires our attention to some problem
and is looking awful serious.” Jack said.
“Better be good.” Blake hissed and followed
us towards the decks railing.
Before arriving at the railing, I turned and
hesitantly said, “Come over here,” while lowering my voice.
“DAMMIT, Dupree!” Blake directed at me, “I
don’t take interference well, so what the hell is your problem
needing such urgent attention?”
I stared into the big old mans eyes and said,
“’Houston, we got a problem’ is about all I can say that fits
this.”
Puzzled, he looked at me and I waved them
both closer to the railing instructing both to, “Have a look.”
Peachtree St., the artery to the city and the
heart of the financial district, as far as the eye could see in
both directions, was Kaput! Cars, trucks, service vans etc.
littered the scenery as far as the eye could see. All the vehicles
and occupants were in various states of disarray depending on the
driving skills of the operators. People were just stopped in the
streets, people were on curbs, newly attached to light poles, head
on wrecks, rear ended etc. it was a Machiavellian hell. This wasn’t
a power outage-party anymore; it was every Emergency Management
offices’ worse nightmare!
Simultaneously both my bosses said, “Oh
HELL!’ and I responded,” You got that right.”
“We got to get moving,” said Jack.
“Yeah, but where?” I asked Blake.
Lord help him he is a card, said “First back
to our drinks and then talk privately about the bar tab.” Heads
turned up to eye each other, solemn nods and back to the bar we
went. Jack ordered a new round to refresh the drinks we swallowed
in kind immediately and then we moved off from the rest of the 40
or so revelers, who had not a clue yet as to what had just happened
to end the world as we had known it.
I got to give it to Blake, after serving more
than 45years for his country, he wanted to stay on duty and make it
back the 13 miles by foot to the closest FEMA headquarters to try
to help with this situation. Jack and I glanced at one another,
considered and nothing more needed to be said. There were no plans
for this type of event that we could help with, and we had family
and friends to help survive. We turned to Blake to try to dissuade
him, but he hushed our objections with a wave of his hand.
He said, “Look, I don’t have anyone but me
basically and you are the only troops I can look out for, so...let
me give you 10 minutes of advice and then get your asses out of
here.”
“But…,” I interjected.
And before I could carry on, he hammered one
of those giant meat hooks some people call hands on me and said,
“Hush, I got my duty. You, David, are low man on the totem pole, so
you listen to me first. Go get Bob to give you two pitchers of
water and three shots of Jack. Tell him the Jack Daniels is for me,
he understands and will get the message.”
“While David goes on a mission, I will
discuss something with you, Jack, privately,” he said refocusing
his attention to the street out front.
Well, while I dutifully ordered up at the bar
and returned to our table, I was haunted by the way Bob had looked,
when I gave Blake’s ‘special order’. He was still his old self
hurrahing the bar, but he was a changed man somehow. He’d gotten
that ‘thousand yard stare’ those of us that seen battle get: a new
determination and resolve that, well to the untested, is just plain
scary. It is like dead eyes looking at you and you just know
someone is about to kick your ass and they have no doubt they can
do it. I turn around and glance back at Jack and Blake, and they
are locked into one of those 8 inch conversations you know means
business. Meantime, Bob is discussing something intensely with the
bouncer named ‘Dump Truck’ and staring in my direction. Bob hands
me my order and says to talk to ‘Dump’ before I leave, and then he
is back in his happy bartender mode waiting on the rest of the bar,
as I make my way back to the table.
- Writer
