…under my feet.
At about 8:04 p.m. tonight, I was sitting in my Palo Alto office eating dinner with a handful of my co-workers when the earth started shaking. And shaking. And shaking. For what seemed an eternity, we had a 5.6 earthquake. It took us a moment to figure out what it actually was, but when the walls visibly shook and I had long enough to set my plate down and hold onto my desk — and someone actually yelled “get under your desk” — we were sure.
After living here off and on for 16 years, it was indeed the largest and longest one I have felt. The windows at San Jose Airport’s control tower smashed. While it was small by earthquake standards (it was considered medium), it still scared the shit out of me.
Of course, my train home was delayed as it had to stop at every bridge and overpass to check for damage (it was the first one after the quake). It was then canceled, and for a while thought I would spend the night under my desk (just in case there was another shaker). But, a co-worker drove me back to San Francisco and here I am writing.
We really need earthquake supplies in the house.