50 ways to die at work

We recently had an emergency preparedness meeting at work. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I heard there were cookies, so I went.

The presentation was about what to do if a disaster occurs while we're at work. Since we're in California, the main focus, not surprisingly, was on earthquakes. We did earthquake drills at school when I was a small child, and I have emergency kits in both my car and at home. I felt well-prepared and maybe a bit smug. I got this, I thought. When the shaking starts, I'm good.

Before the discussion, the presenter handed out surveys. 

"Please rate the presentation at the end," she said, "to help me improve it."

I skimmed over the paper--it listed a series of disasters and asked me to rate my level of concern for each. I tossed the survey onto the seat next to me.

And so started the presentation. There were lots of helpful tips, such as "Drop, cover and hold-on" in case of a quake. That is good advice, although I usually resort to my default panic mode when the ground starts rolling--screaming, panicking, and running outside. You know, all the things they tell you not to do. 

But the presentation wasn't solely focused on quakes. Turns out, I work smack dab in the middle of a disaster zone. Earthquakes are the most probable disaster in this area, but they aren't the only threat. In fact, they're just the starting point, setting off a chain of life-threatening events.

The presenter walked us through 46 slides, methodically addressing the environmental threats in great detail. She pointed out all the nearby fault lines, and reminded us that we're situated on top of them. She showed a slide predicting a 6.8 quake or bigger within the next 30 years.

"Just so you know, I've been doing this for 27 years," she told us. "They said 30 years when I started this job 27 years ago, so you do the math on when it's coming..."

I couldn't; I was too busy nervously biting my nails.

"Earthquakes are dangerous," she said. "They will certainly knock out the infrastructures, such as the freeway overpasses. You may not be able to get home for at least a week." 

I live 23 miles from work, mostly freeway miles. It only takes a minor fender-bender to shut down the 405; if the freeway cracked or was damaged, a week might be a generous estimate.

"But the real threat is what happens to the surrounding infrastructure afterwards," the presenter continued. "Let's start with tsunamis."

Like most SoCal residents, I've seen the tsunami warning signs at the beach. I always thought they were a joke, until the I saw the tsunami that wrecked Thailand. (Which was triggered by--you got it!--an earthquake.)

The presenter reminded us of our surrounding landscape; the coast, a couple miles away, houses a water treatment plant and the Department of Water and Power (which I learned has two 9 million gallon reservoirs that will flood the surrounding neighborhoods if damaged). There's also an oil refinery down the street, with 150 miles of pipelines pumping crude oil under the ocean. It also has an active line pumping jet fuel to the airport on our northern border--the 4th busiest airport in the world, the presenter informed us. 

Which lead to the next possible disaster--a possible plane crash or terrorist attack at the airport. 

"And don't forget the military base over there," the presenter said lightly, motioning toward the distance. "They definitely prepare for terrorist attacks, especially with the entire aerospace industry surrounding us." 

She pointed out the last threat--urban fire. A slide appeared onscreen, showing a multi-story office building burning. 

By this time, I was a little numb and completely overwhelmed. We have threats bordering the entire city; in case of a real disaster, we're in trouble here.

At the end of the presentation, I completed my survey. At the beginning of the presentation, I would've marked the boxes for each disaster as "Somewhat concerned." Now, as I turned it in afterwards, every box was checked at the highest level, "Very concerned!" 

"That wasn't about being prepared for disasters," I told my co-workers later. "That was about the 50 ways to die in El Segundo. Seriously, I'm coming to work wrapped in bubble wrap tomorrow!"

"And she didn't even mention the metro," the receptionist reminded me, as a train rumbled past, just outside our building. "You don't think a train could fall off those tracks in an earthquake?" 

I hadn't until just that moment, no. But I was thinking it now!

By the time I got home that night, I'd calmed down a little bit. I'd checked all our emergency supplies, which are still good for another year. I packed a couple bags with clothes and good walking shoes--one for my car, and one for my office. I discussed emergency plans with Mark, who scoffed at first when I said I might not get home for a week during a disaster.

"Psh, I stay home by myself all the time," he said, dismissively.

"Without running water?" I asked. "Or electricity? At night, in pitch black, with no house lights or street lights, or TV, or phones, and maybe people looking for food or water?" 

That made him pause. 

"Well, no," he admitted. And then he listened a little more closely, as I told him the best info I'd learned--in an emergency, we should text each other, not call, to keep the phone networks free for emergency personnel.

So maybe the shakeout wasn't such a disaster after all. It certainly freaked me out--my parting statement from the presentation was, "Ack, now I need a drink!" But it also made me think about my readiness, because here in quake country, it's not if, but when. So in that sense, the presentation was a success.

Even if I'm still a nervous wreck, two days later!