So last week we got soooo much rain in one day. So much rain. I’ll not lie to you. It was exciting. Desert people get giddy when it rains. And honestly, we have such blasé weather that anything out of the ordinary makes us excited. That much rain in such a short amount of time is a recipe for light-headedness.
Imagine how excited we were when the second round came up. This week the newscasters lost their ever-loving minds over the impending storm. Hurricane Odile was coming. We watched the Doppler radar and the internet notifications with laser intensity. A massive sandbag creation effort was launched by the city. Officials begged us to stay in our homes – apparently the homes that were going to be shortly under water. A dude from the Weather Channel came to town, excited and woozy from what was sure to be a biblical storm. They assured us on Tuesday of an 80% chance of rain, 100% that night, and 100% all day Wednesday.
They were talking crazy – like up to 6 inches expected. Do you have any idea what 6 inches of rain in a one or two-day period would do to our area? You can’t discount the previous week’s rain already saturated the ground so this new dousing wouldn’t even soak in. The bridges would all be closed, and there was a serious possibility – if all this came to fruition – that bridges, streets, houses would wash away. Seriously.
More of this, they said
Perhaps we’re all loony down here in the desert, but all the activity took on a carnival atmosphere.
Nothing happened on Tuesday. The sky was ominous and we could smell it in the air, but nary a drop of significance fell. We felt a bit let down, but we knew it was coming. The people in the know updated the forecast and promised an onslaught at 6pm.
When we left the office, things were clearing up and we could actually see blue sky. What the hell? Still, they promised. They stood there next to the already running river beds that had been dry only the previous week, and looked up at the sky like they expected to find alien space craft up there or, I don’t know, the hand of God or something holding a pitcher of water to dump on us.
We drove home and battened down our hatches. We made chili and stew and homemade soup even though it was hotter than heck and humid. The idea of rain and thunder and lightning and such was making us nostalgic for cooler times.
There’s a street under there
I was up until 3am writing that night and I checked frequently for moisture. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch.
Wednesday morning. THE BIG DAY. 100%.
“IT’S COMING, PEOPLE. Go get your sandbags.” That’s what the morning news testified. Wednesday our mothers called Bank of No Forks and pleaded with us to go home. One of the nations largest defense contractors sent their entire staff home for fear of what would happen. The schools called parents and promised that they were watching and would notify us of school closures. Bosses communicated that buildings and streets would most certainly become unsafe and employees should be prudent.
The girls at the office all wore our most comfortable clothes and appropriate rubber shoes and we positioned ourselves in front of the office windows and waited. We had our umbrellas poised and ready.
We got nothing. Not a blessed drop.
Honest to god, the entire office was so depressed about it I can hardly explain.
Our faith in weather forecasting was tenuous at best before this ridiculousness. Now – we think they should all be lynched for getting our hopes up.