My hurricane season predictions
When a major storm forms over the Atlantic Ocean this year, 26,738 Virgin Islands residents will pay no attention whatsoever.
However, one guy, who moved here the previous week, will freak out. He will pace, call home compulsively, wring his hands, and stock his cupboards with enough canned tuna to feed East End for a month.
As the storm grows larger and turns toward the territory, 26,738 VI residents will continue to go about business as usual. All business, that is, except reporting to work. Most will cease to do that entirely.
Instead, they will stay home and use Facebook to comment on the colourful blob that is quickly growing on StormTracker.com.
“It looks like Jabba the Hut,” one guy will write.
“LOL,” a woman will respond. “Actually, it looks like The Blob.”
“I think looks like your face,” a wise guy will add.
When the storm becomes a hurricane, the nervous guy will panic, hopping a ferry to St. Thomas in a desperate attempt to return home. Unfortunately, he will be too late: The airport will be closed, and he will be forced to check in to a ridiculously expensive hotel.
As the hurricane starts to pound the Eastern Caribbean, VI residents will turn on their televisions to monitor important developments taking place on Scandal.
They will remain inside when the storm’s outer bands hit the territory, in order to ensure that their hair stays dry.
When the weather subsequently clears up — the calm that indicates a major storm will arrive within hours — 26,738 residents will spring into action.
En masse, they will descend on the territory’s supermarkets to purchase the essentials necessary for weathering any hurricane: rum, beer and wine.
Police will be called to respond to a fight over the last bag of nachos in a Road Town supermarket. Though several officers will be on the scene, they will not respond, because they don’t wish to lose their place in line at the cash register.
In the meantime, volunteers will attempt to prepare emergency shelters around the territory. Some will succeed. Others will realise that they have lost the key.
As the storm grows to Category Three and rain starts to buffet the territory, several sports-car enthusiasts will fishtail up and down Waterfront Drive.
The storm
When the wind reaches 50 miles per hour, the roof will blow off one of the new Crafts Alive buildings. It will get stuck on the restaurant across the street.
In the succeeding 20 minutes, the entire village will disappear, followed by the new crosswalk on Waterfront Drive.
Nearby, at least one government office will be completely destroyed because someone left the windows open. Important papers will flutter over Road Town.
In McNamara, a new employee at the Department of Disaster Management will notice a leak in the roof.
“Good heavens!” he will shout. “The office is leaking! And this is where we have the Emergency Operations Centre! Something must be done!”
His colleagues will chuckle and hand him an umbrella.
“Welcome to the club,” they’ll respond.
Across town, the road into Johnsons Ghut will become a raging river.
Residents will peek out their windows, dreaming of what they could have purchased with the $4 million of taxpayer money government spent to stop the flooding in the area.
In spite of the rushing water, at least one driver will try to navigate his vehicle up the road and get stuck.
All over the territory, poorly constructed retaining walls will collapse, and roads will wash away.
At sea, the storm swell will toss derelict boats around like toys. A few will crash into other vessels that are properly secured.
The aftermath
After the storm, leaders will emerge to assess the damage. They will be shocked at the devastation, all of which they will blame on the former administration.
However, they will quickly put politics aside in order to repeat years-old pledges to fix the flooding in Johnsons Ghut; to build a new DDM building; to rid the territory of derelict boats, and so on.
Then they will stay up late into the night signing hundreds of petty contracts as work gets under way to repair the damage.
Disclaimer: Dateline: Paradise is a column and occasionally contains satirical “news” articles that are entirely fictional.
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