Here in Middle Tennessee, at the beginning of every school year, there are dozens of forms to fill out that are kept on file at the schools. In particular there is a form which indicates how a student should be transported home in the event that school closes early due to inclement weather. Normally my child rides the bus to and from school, but I indicated on the form that in the event of an early closing, I would come to school and get her. This decision was mainly fueled by the “big snow” Nashville got back in 2003. I remember hearing stories on the news and from friends and acquaintances of children being stuck on buses for hours and hours and not arriving home until much later in the day. I figured that if we got stuck, at least we’d be stuck together and I wouldn’t be worrying about her safety (at least her safety in the hands of another person who is also overseeing the safety of 30 or more other children.) But here in Middle Tennessee, that’s about as “horrific” as it gets when planning for the worst.

But if you head East on I-40 a few hours from here you’ll get to the Oak Ridge community where there is a nuclear power plant. I wonder if the parents in Oak Ridge have the same experience at the beginning of each school year as the parents in Brattleboro, VT?

My daughter will be entering high school next year, and I am filling out the usual forms. “Evacuation Permission” falls under the usual form category here in Brattleboro, Vt., because we live eight miles from a nuclear power plant.

On the form, I need to indicate if: 1) She may leave in the car she drives to school; 2) She may leave as a passenger with another student; or 3) She must be transferred by bus to the “reception center.”

My daughter and her friends are not driving yet. Ice runs through my veins when I think of her jammed inside a yellow bus riding 20 miles north on the interstate to a “reception center” with twice as many parents in panicked pursuit.

I call my friend Ruby, who teaches in the high school. “Can I write in your name and tell my daughter to go directly to you?” but before she even replies, the pieces of the picture start falling into place. Ruby and her colleagues will be in charge of 1,500 teenagers. “You have to get all those kids in the buses and ride to the reception center, don’t you?”

This is not the first time I’ve played out a version of this disaster in my mind. Not so recently, I went to a meeting to recruit volunteers for the American Red Cross. When the recruiter laid out responsibilities such as setting up cots at the reception center after an “accident,” I began to squirm.

Read the rest of the article here.

It reminds me of the scene in Deep Impact where everyone is trying to “get out of Dodge” and the Interstate is crammed with cars and eventually comes to a standstill. Still, I think the author makes a very good point. We’ll never really be completely prepared for the worst and we can only try to keep our humor about us when preparing for it.

h/t: The Squirrel Queen