Tuesday afternoon, October 1st: At work, I am spending my Tuesday afternoon writing my weekly editor’s column. Making the conscious decision not to subject my readers to yet another poem, I crack my knuckles and begin typing away, my creativity (or lack thereof) fueled by the power of air conditioning and my second iced chai latte of the day–this one bought from Three Lemons Bakery & Cafe (shop local!). 

For once, I am in no rush to go home: at the time of writing, my family’s residence still does not have power, and I am sure that my father is currently gallivanting around our cul-de-sac, chatting away, drinking beer, and complaining about his weekend being ruined despite the fact that all he does on his days off normally is sleep and watch YouTube shorts.

Monday morning, September 30th: The fourth (or fifth?) day without power at the Gutierrez household. I wake up early to take a shower and get dressed for work, and I overhear my father in the hallway talking to his supervisor over the phone. Apparently, my old man is told to stay home again. He usually works Saturday-Wednesday, but lo and behold, a little rainstorm named Helene had other plans for me.

I hate to sound like a dramatic teenager, but spending time with my father in a home with no power, no AC, and no internet was the closest thing to inferno I have experienced in my life so far–and I have ridden UGA’s cursed campus buses in both the fall and spring semesters, notoriously filled to the brim with sweaty underclassmen with a distinct lack of spatial awareness and manners.

All that my father has done since last Thursday is (a) laugh at both my mom and I for actually taking this hurricane seriously, and (b) get irrationally angry every time either one of us makes a suggestion on how to improve our living conditions in a house with an average indoor temperature of 88°F.

Saturday, September 28th: Early in the morning, my mom asked my dad to go look for ice, but he pretended he couldn’t hear, choosing instead to plug his ears and listen to dodgy podcasts on his brick of a phone. He later went out that evening to buy a six-pack of Heineken and some chewing gum, as if that would help to keep our food cool. That same day, I made the mistake of asking my father if he would ever consider buying a generator–you know, to help prepare for future storms.

“Go ahead–buy a generator! Keep it in your room and your closet and fill it up with your gas that you will pay for,” he shouted, his voice filled with the sass that only an old coot could possess. “I don’t need a generator, I don’t live in the middle of nowhere!”

In that instance, I bit my tongue and gave up on the discussion. In the living room, I looked out the window and saw my next-door neighbors unload not one but two generators out of their SUV flanked with Alabama flags. Right then and there, the Dawgs lost before a ball was even kicked (or thrown? Please don’t get mad, I usually watch the ‘other’ football. You know, the sport that Ryan Reynolds is investing in.).

Monday afternoon, September 30th: I am currently shopping at Yankee Candle with my mother, who also wanted to escape my father’s nonsensical ramblings and mild alcoholism while cooling herself with air conditioning in the process. My little basket is stuffed with absurdly large pumpkin spice-scented candles for my room, as well as some air fresheners for my car. Retail therapy: it doesn’t require health insurance, but it does require a huge chunk of your paycheck. Oh, well–at least I get rewards points on my store account.

Wednesday morning, October 2st: I am loath to talk about myself in my columns, because my personal ramblings usually devolve into me complaining about stuff (like about my family) and I run the risk of receiving letters to the editor from folks thrice my age who, in turn, will write to complain about how bitter and ungrateful I am, which is not a completely untrue assessment to make.

The fact is, there’s tons of people who were more affected by Helene than I was (like those in Asheville and Florida’s Big Bend), and most likely aren’t whining about it in some silly little oped like me. Maybe I should get a grip, and be a bit less annoying in my opinion column- slash-diary.

Anyways, I’m not sure where I was going with all of this, or if there is even a moral to this long-winded (hurricane pun!) weekend story, at least beyond “buy a generator in case of storms” or “don’t spend half of your paycheck on scented candles”.

But seriously though, I hope everyone reading this is safe and sound from the storm’s worst effects. Talk to you next week--hopefully I’ll find a fun poem to share!

Andrea Gutierrez is the managing editor of the Bryan County News. As evidenced by this week’s column, she is a pumpkin spice enthusiast, and has already bought associated scents for her office.