On Cranes and Guns

Yesterday afternoon, we all (cats included) were a bit concerned about the strong winds whipping through Seattle. Mindful of the 10-story crane next door to my building, and not wishing to experience first-hand a repeat of the Bellevue accident, I kept glancing out the window every time there was a particularly loud gust. It appeared that the crane might be pivoting about its base in the breeze; this led to some unpleasant trains of thought, such as imagined images of my co-op reduced to a pile of bricks.

The winds died down by bedtime and I was able to rest easily for part of the night, until a series of loud crack-crack noises disturbed my slumber. The sound of sirens followed. Obviously the crane was finally collapsing; my first thought was along the lines of, “And now I die.” But I waited and waited, and no catastrophe seemed to be unfolding (read: the ceiling hadn’t caved in, and I heard not even one blood-curdling scream) so I went back to sleep.

Today I discovered, happily, that the crane still stands. And the noise I heard? Oh, it was only a gunfight down the street — great.