By
Daniel
Moore
Before I get into this story,
I need to let you know that I’m
an idiot. This isn’t some sort of
self-deprecating cry for pity.
It’s just true, and fundamental
to what you’re about to read.
In 2012, I travelled to the US with
my then-girlfriend to do a bit of
big-city sightseeing. Our first stop
was New York. The Big Apple. The
city that never sleeps. We arrived
at about 2pm on October 28th, and
things already seemed a bit off. We
were told that, due to severe weather
warnings, the subway had been shut
down until further notice. “Classic
American overreaction,” I thought.
We caught a taxi to the place we
were staying, and saw that people
everywhere were lining up at
grocery stores, petrol stations,
chemists, and anywhere else you’d
buy supplies. With my stupidity
and ignorance still defiantly in
place, I asked my girlfriend if
she’d like to go for a walk. We’d see
a few sights in the late afternoon
and tire ourselves out so we could
try to beat the jetlag, I told her.
After 15 minutes, she pointed out
that it seemed weird we were the
only people out and about. New
York boasts a population of over
22 million people (and about six
public dunnies... but that’s another
story). The only folks outside
were those bunkering down their
basements, boarding up windows,
and buying provisions. The winds
were picking up, too, but in a
strange way. It would be really
calm for about two minutes, and
then blustery mayhem. A leaf hit
my girlfriend’s face with such force
that it genuinely shocked her.
She suggested we head back, and you
can’t argue with someone who’s just
been coward-punched by nature.
Things started to really ramp
up the next day. The wind and
rain were relentless, and people
went into voluntary lockdown.
I finally succumbed to pressure
and went out to stock up on
supplies. “Classic American
overreaction,” I still thought.The weather now too shitty to stand
around in, I ducked into a bottle
shop to grab some wine and a few
bags of pretzels, rather than lining
up for groceries and water. Arriving
back at our apartment ready to
proudly announce my heroic haul,
I heard the news on TV: we were
about to get caught up in a natural
disaster. While the rest of New York
was preparing for Hurricane Sandy,
I was preparing to Netflix and chill.See, I’m an idiot.We were staying about five storeys
up. The building swayed, and the
glass windows struggled with the
ferocity of Sandy’s unnecessary
temper. Rain and wind and
lightning pounded the city with
unrelenting determination.Forty-five minutes in, and
we’d finished the pretzels.Weirdly, there were people down on
the street, marvelling at the carnage
as it unfolded. So, after some wine,
I joined them. It was genuinely
unbelievable. Here I was caught up
in what we now know as the second
most destructive hurricane in US
history, and I was outside in the
midst of it. Within 30 minutes,
the neighbouring Hudson River
overflowed, and the Lower East Side
began to flood. Ten minutes later,
the water was at shoulder level. So, I
swam across the road and went back
upstairs. Lightning struck a nearby
power plant, and the city went dark.
New York – one of the largest cities
in the world – was now shut down.The next morning was weird. The
floods had drained, but there was no
electricity or transport, and shops
were closed. We walked around
for hours – absolutely starving
and hungover – until, finally, we
stumbled across a rundown fast
food joint, running on a generator.
They were frying up what seemed
like it might be food, and the line
waiting to grab a bite was two
blocks long. This time, we waited.By
Helen
Razer
New technology, as you and your
smartphone hardly need reminding,
brings new shape to us. But, for
every mass convenience, there’s
also a troubling effect. The ‘I can do
my job on the run!’ thing that made
us so grateful for the iPhone is a
bit less appealing one decade later,
when we realise, um, we must do
our jobs on the run. It is expected.I try to imagine how the motorcar
first felt when it became affordable
to so many, and then, how it felt
10 years after so many in the West
became drivers. I wonder how
long before people conquered the
fear of this horseless carriage.
Then, I wonder how long it was
before they knew that fatal
motorcar accidents had arrived.There’s a new sort of accident that
comes with every new widely
adopted bit of tech. And I know
this is a downbeat view when we’re
all supposed to be ‘innovative’ and
‘agile’ and thrilled about a future
where robots will take our jobs.
Still, future-me will have to be
grateful for the small allowance
the robot owners give so I can buy
the products their robots make.Present-me has never really gotten
on board with this whole old-tech
motorcar thing, though. This is due
to a crap optic nerve. I don’t drive
because I can’t drive, and the driver’s
licence people, you will be happy to
learn, totally agree. I cannot control
a motorcar. This makes some people
sad for me, because they see it as a
great disadvantage. I’m accustomed
to it, though. And even, at times,
quite grateful, because I know I
cannot control a motorcar. Nearly
every driver is deluded that they can.Everywhere I’ve travelled, I’ve
travelled in a motorcar driven by
someone who believes that they
drive the car, and the car does not
drive them. Which is to say that I,
a lifetime passenger, have neverwriters’ piece