Thursday, December 13, 2007
Day Three: I Can See My Breath
Where the fuck is FEMA? Just because I’m not a black grand-mother of twenty in the Super-dome doesn’t mean I don’t need help too. Oh wait, I guess things didn’t work out so well for those folks either. Well replace New Orleans with Oklahoma as FEMA’s latest victim by stupidity. Do you know what the FEMA officer brought to my door today? Electricity? No. A generator to make my own electricity? No. Bottled water? No. Hot chocolate and spiced cider? Hell no. He fucking brought me a chainsaw. What the fuck? Am I supposed to take this out into the woods to collect my own firewood? Or am I supposed to volunteer to start removing trees from the city’s streets? Will that keep me warm tonight? I politely told the FEMA man I wasn’t in need of a chainsaw. He looked at the two trees laying in my front yard and wished me luck. I said, I don’t need luck, but if you’d like to use your chainsaw to get this debris out of my yard, that would be a big help. He pretended to laugh and walked away. I pretended to use the make-believe generator he brought me. I can still, however, see my breath in the house now.