Like a weak contestant on Gladiators, Perth lives in constant fear of getting smashed by a storm. Susan is all about that life and reacts to even the mildest weather event like a labrador puppy on acid.
This, however, is no mild weather event. This weekend, Perth faces a “potential storm” that is being reported as potentially being capable of dumping a once in a-decade worth of rain in just minutes! No, seconds! Also your trampoline might fly into orbit! Naturally, the media has been careful not to overstate it.
Susan is going to take no chances. Despite it being the long weekend, her office manager instincts kicked in and she sends the fourth email to her staff about it. It’s a March super storm cell and it’s going to piss down like an R Kelly private tape.
There is no time to dwell on the likely decimation of her work colleagues loose garden items. She must stock up on supplies. She hops in her Getz and drives like a scab on verge collection day.
Of course, the storm is hours away but the mere anticipation of precipitation has that speedometer needle locked at 30kph. This is no time to take chances.
As she gets out of her vehicle, a mildly aggressive breeze blows her bag around. Her face looks like Newman before he is eaten by a Dilophosaurus in Jurassic Park. Pure terror. She runs into IGA to stock up on canned goods.
She grabs a weeks worth of food for a couple of hour storm and proceeds to the checkout. Some old bat is taking forever and Susan is running out of patience.
She begins flailing her arms like a wacky, wavy inflatable tube ma’am as she corners a staff member, “you need to open the other checkout, I MUST get home, did you know a super cell is coming!!!”
Susan is as stressed as a colourblind Neo who forgot which pill was which. She does the unthinkable and puts the pedal to the metal – 35kph. This is some white-knuckling, balls to the wall, maniac shit. She runs inside to begin battening down the hatches.
She screams at her husband to work faster. She is still scarred by the storm earlier in the month. The superficial garden damage took 10’s of dollars to rectify. That’s 20 minutes of her Sunday that she’ll never get back. While losing her shit in her garden she spots her neighbour sitting on his porch having a drink.
She makes a face that would frighten a newborn, “you really should take that Hills Hoist down! I wont have it blowing into my backyard!!!” He returns serve,
“Yeah, nahhh, she’s concreted in lady, shouldn’t be so scared of a little storm, farken nothing compared to what I seen working up norf, ha ha, nah, yeah, farkk all, luv”.
His Pilbara poetry doesn’t manage to calm her nerves. So she jumps on her local community Facebook page and writes a post seething with more passive-aggressive rage than a post-it on an office fridge.
“I hope everyone is taking SENSIBLE PRECAUTIONS!! I have taken necessary photos of hazards and I will not hesitate to call the local council if CERTAIN ITEMS damage my property!!!”
All that’s left to do is wait to call Western Power 58 times when the power inevitably goes off. Some say she could just check the outages map but Susan isn’t one to let her outrage go unheard.