Did You Wonder About the Nuclear Alert in Hawai'i?

I haven't been on here in a couple of days. Been kind of busy, with all the hubbub surrounding the mistaken Hawai'ian missile alert that was real for 38 very long minutes.

Remember I told you dd had a small 4 hour job on Saturday mornings taking orders at a food stand at a farmer's market? That's been going pretty well. The crepe chef is so patient and kind.

Well, this past Saturday, dd and I left the house (she doesn't drive) at 7:20 to go to the market for her job. It's about a 6 minute drive, including red lights, etc, but we take a back road with little traffic, avoiding the main (crowded) road. We arrived, I visited with the chef for a few minutes while they were setting up, walked around the market for a minute, then left.

At a couple minutes after 8 am I was maybe 1 minute from our house, driving back home for a cup of coffee with my dh, when my phone went off in that loud tone signalling a problem (usually here it's dangerous high surf or a missing person). 10 seconds later, dd calls me, crying, sobbing, wailing. I could hear the chef trying to calm her down (we're buying that chef a very nice thank you gift). The market was being evacuated, people were fleeing in tears, and the chef made the decision to take the cash box, abandon the food and equipment, and flee with dd to a local restaurant. I wavered between turning right around and going home, but I thought it was best to go the remaining minute to dh, as he works for the government and would know what to do, and together we could go rescue dd.

Dh was already busy on the phone, as his boss had instructed him to start the official phone tree and he was frantically trying to get real info from FEMA and local government sources, without luck. One thing they have to think about is that many of the employees are retired military, or the parents of someone in the military, and this can trigger all kinds of PTSD, flashbacks, and panic. So they were instructed to contact everyone (it's not a huge task force, so it's a task that is fairly easily accomplished).

We decided he would stay (because most likely he would be called in) and I would drive back to get dd (and the chef, if necessary). I drove like a wild maniac, not stopping for stop signs, and disregarding the speed limit (there was hardly any cars on the back route I take).

When I got to the parking lot of the market, where the restaurant is, it was surreal.

We have participated in military training exercises before, where we volunteer to be "victims" of a mass casualty event. They're pretty realistic, but you can see "dead people" chatting with each other quietly while they wait to be toe-tagged, and although the first responders are in full training mode, the "victims" are kind of observing all the mechanisms in place, mentally reviewing their first aid kits at home, and then casually getting up when it's over, unwinding the bandages on their "life threatening wounds", taking off their toe tags, and then everyone goes and has a drink. Exercise over.

But this! This was unlike anything I have ever imagined or experienced. We knew, from previous warnings, that we had maybe 18 minutes, maybe 25. Precious minutes had already gone by. I ran to the restaurant, and passed dozens and dozens of people. This, as far as we knew, was real, and it was the final minutes of our lives. I was determined to get to dd. That was my only thought. And then, when I had her, I would get home. Laser focus.

Many people were crying, and I could hear snippets of what they assumed was their last phone call to parent, spouse, partner, friend, child. Some were sobbing, running around aimlessly in confusion and terror. Some were angry, and I could hear a few conversations that went something like "this is a trick, so we vote for that senator; it's all a scam". Unlike with the 9/11 attack, there was no smoke, no fire, no first responders, no injuries, no noise except for sobs and cries. The sky was blue. The sun was out. Birds were singing. But everyone knew there would be a blinding light, then a rainstorm of radioactive ash, and the destruction of thousands. It would come at any second. People got into cars and drove off like they were blind, bumping light poles and other obstacles. People were dashing across the street at any place there was an opening. No crosswalks. No care for life.

I got inside the restaurant. Dd was a shaking mess, crying that she wanted to go home. The chef was calm, though a bit teary. She had called her mom to say goodbye. We debated what to do. Drive back and face death on the road? Wait to die there, without my dh and ds? Assume it would be shot down and we would be saved?

Then, in the restaurant filled with a couple hundred people anxiously awaiting to die (and a couple of old guys still wolfing down their pancakes), every phone chirped, buzzed, screamed, blared. All at once. Someone yelled "ALL CLEAR", and others yelled "we're safe", "it's over", "it was a mistake". There was relief, cries of joy, a lot of anger. People hugged strangers. Dd cried.

The chef resolutely decided to go back to the stand and to get back to life. I had to make the hard decision to encourage dd to go back, too. Not to go home and curl up. To her immense credit, she did.

Now, it's been 48 hours or so. Someone pushed the wrong button. There are more safety protocols on my old laptop computer (when I want to delete a desktop shortcut) than there are in the Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency. The guy simply clicked one place on his computer, then comfirmed it with another click. Easy peasy. Click! Tell a couple million people they have maybe 20 minutes to live. And it turns out there is NO way to take it back, after it's gone out for more than a couple minutes. The only way to do that would have been to send out the official alert again and then immediately follow it up with an advisory saying it's not real. Obviously they have already made major changes.

Here's one funny thing out of all this. I was kind of fuming in general, later that day at home. I said (to no one in particular) "what, is the button to tell everyone they're going to die right next to the button to start the coffee maker? Whose stupid idea was that?" And without missing a beat, dd said "yeah, maybe next time, don't put the Mr. Coffee on the same table as Mr. Ballistic Missile in the break room. Separate tables from now on!" Mr. Ballistic Missile just cracked me up and it was a welcome relief.

Now, my question: will you send positive thoughts/prayers to dd? Now that it's over, she is very anxious. Not so much about dying, but about being away from us. Last night as dh and I were watching Iron Chef Showdown, she came in and wanted to talk. She cried about maybe dying far from us, with a crepe chef, in a restaurant, surrounded by random people. I hope this doesn't set her back. We reassured her, with our beliefs, our admiration for her strength, about how many things are unknown but we still have to live our lives as best we can, etc. She's very rattled. I'm angry that such a lax, unstructured, poorly organized system allowed this to happen.