‘Safe' Room, My Ass!

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http://www.lasvegasweekly.com/2003/02_20/news_upfront1.html

 

 

‘Safe' Room, My Ass!

 

When disaster strikes, why not just tie a plastic bag over our heads?

 

By Kate Silver • Illustration by Benjamen Purvis

 

 

The code is orange. The sheets, plastic. The tape, duct.

President Bush has put the nation to task, and I'm taking him up on it: To

prepare for the worst, I'm duct-taping myself and my two cats into my spare

bedroom to seal us off from the world in a mock " safe room. " I'm to spend 24

hours in a plastic-coated 10-by-12 room, equipped with food, water, a computer

and a bucket (with lid and soapy water), which I plan to put off using as a

Port-a-Potty as long as humanly possible.

" Turn off all ventilation, including furnaces, air conditioners, vents and fans.

Seek shelter in an internal room, preferably one without windows. Seal the room

with duct tape and plastic sheeting, " advises the Federal Emergency Management

Agency's website. Here we go.

It takes 20 minutes to tape my makeshift bunker and line the door bottoms with

plastic sheeting. Had there been a real attack, I suppose I would be dead in

that amount of time, unless I was considerably upwind from ground zero. But once

the room's two doors (one to a patio, the other into the apartment) are lined in

silver duct tape and the air vent is sealed off, I'm feeling airtight. Then the

sneezing begins. Damn allergies. I scan the room, looking for my allergy

medicine, but all I get is a mental picture of a bottle of Allegra, sitting on

the kitchen counter. Sneezing, I glare at the cats, which are climbing on a

stack of boxes in the closet, blissfully unaware that their dander has put me in

this state. This is going to suck, I think. Achoo.

But I'll soon discover that my allergies are the least of the day's concerns.

 

10:45 a.m.

Glancing around the room, I realize my duct-taping job isn't finished. If I

really want to keep things out, I should seal up each plate of glass in the

French doors that go out to my patio. There are 20 squares. This should pass

time.

11:06

There's a red Suburban skidding around the muddy vacant lot behind my apartment.

I wonder if he sees me duct-taping my windows. I feel conspicuous and paranoid.

11:10

Feeding time. I glance around at my provisions and settle on hummus, Wheat

Thins, grapes and cheese. I think of one of my mom's favorite phrases, " cheese

is binding, " and eye the bucket distastefully. I limit my water intake.

It all started last week, when my editor asked me for a different angle on the

government's newfound love of duct tape. I told him I'd create my own sealed-in

" safe room " and stay in there for a prescribed number of hours.

" Just make sure you don't suffocate, " Managing Editor Scott Dickensheets

e-mailed. " Take a fork so you can poke emergency air holes. I don't think

‘asphyxiated in mock safe room' would make a good entry on the worker's comp

form. "

Pshaw, thought I. This whole duct-tape-shelter thing is bound to fail. Houses

here are built quickly, cheaply and are porous enough that, even in my attempts

to seal myself in, I'll still be getting some kind of seepage. Right? I'm

alarmed Friday, when I go to Wal-Mart, The Home Depot and Lowe's and find that

supplies of duct tape are greatly depleted. Wal-Mart is out of plastic sheeting.

And the home-improvement stores have large " emergency " displays that peddle duct

tape, plastic sheeting, generators, batteries, flashlights and other emergency

supplies.

People are just grasping for peace and order, I tell myself. This can't actually

be effective.

11:26

I finish taping the glass, and I'm starting to remember other things I forgot,

like a lamp. There's no overhead light, so once it hits 5:30 I'll have to rely

on a night-light and the glow from the computer.

12:35 p.m.

I've planned a road trip to California. Spoken with my father on the phone.

Called a friend. My cat keeps jumping on me and seems to be drooling as he

purrs. The other one is in the closet, and every few minutes he screams.

12:40

I notice that my allergies have calmed. I decide the cats aren't to blame, this

time—it was probably the dust I stirred up in my taping blitz.

12:41

Time to clean and organize the room.

12:51

I come across a pair of flashlights I'd bought on a whim. This makes me

excessively happy. I'd be happier if flashlights came packaged with Allegra.

1:34

I've organized my closet. In the process, an ironing board fell out and narrowly

missed whacking me on the head. I have visions of dying in here. The room feels

like it's gotten about 15 degrees warmer, and my allergies are back. I wheeze.

1:35

The more neurotic of the cats (the drooler) is trying to dig his way out of the

room. I curse his dander.

I'd actually been looking forward to my 24 hours of semi-isolation. I'd do my

taxes, make phone calls I'd put off, give the Sunday New York Times the

attention it deserves, make duct-tape sculptures and apparel, whittle. Or just

spend the majority of the time online. From FEMA's website I'd already learned

how to identify when we're hit by a nuclear, biological or chemical attack: The

streets will be lined with mass casualties.

1:37

I'm warily eyeing the bucket in the corner of the room, and regretting the

coffee I drank before coming in here.

1:39

Reflection: Growing up in Houston, a " safe room " was a closet, and I spent a

number of nights inside one with my family when hurricanes threatened. But we

never used duct tape.

2:45

I've started feeling light-headed. Or am I just dreading the inevitable peeing

in a bucket? Nope. I stand up, and the room spins. Online, I read that after

five hours, the carbon dioxide buildup in a sealed room becomes dangerous.

" Oxygen levels below 19.5 percent may cause asphyxia, " I read on one website.

" Exposure to carbon dioxide gas can cause nausea and respiratory problems. High

concentrations may cause vasodilation leading to circulatory collapse. " Screw

this. Sticking to my proposed 24 would mean sure death.

Is the government trying to kill us? It's probably not intentional. FEMA

acknowledges the potential suffocation threat, and most media have at least

touched on it. " Ten square feet of floor space per person will provide

sufficient air to prevent carbon dioxide buildup for up to five hours, " reads

the government's disaster guide (www.fema.gov).

But the same document suggests a three-day supply of food and water, which,

within a sealed room spells duct-tape disaster. None of the documents I could

find reconcile that time disparity, which leaves me confused, but it's at least

an oxygen-rich confusion. Not everyone has the Internet to warn them of the

five-hour limit, and the media and public have latched onto the notion of

salvation through duct tape, glossing over the notion that this could also be a

silent killer wreaking biological terror from within your very own safe room.

Four hours and 45 minutes was my limit. I untape the vent and the underside of

the door, and cool air actually rushes in. I consider sticking out the 24 hours

(I really want to fashion a duct-tape skirt), but the motivation is gone. Why

would I pee in a bucket when the mock toxins from my apartment are seeping in

through the vent and under the door? If I'm going to die, I might as well retain

some dignity and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

 

 

 

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