I got a mailing from my neighbor yesterday here in OFC (Old Fart Central). I don’t think I like what he’s telling me.
No, it’s not his tone. It’s friendly and welcoming enough. It’s the subject matter. It was presented in glowing terms, mind you. Perhaps a little too glowing for my tastes.
My neighbor is a nuke plant. The mailing was entitled, “Safety Planning Information for Neighbors of FPL’s St. Lucie Nuclear Plant.”
Since I have worked in corporate communications, I have had the pleasure of writing similar pieces, but never for a nuke plant. So I looked through the table of contents to see how my peers chose to spin the topic. It contained several chapters, including my favorites: Radiation: A Part of Everyday Life and What to Do If You Are Told to Stay Indoors.
Now I don’t know about you, but you would think the latter chapter should be relatively short. If you are told to stay indoors, “stay indoors. Don’t go outside.”
But no, a leak seams to carry more dire consequences than they are letting on to. I’d bet my life on it (I hope these words aren’t prophetic). Because in that section of the book it tells me to turn off the AC, cover my food and close all the windows and doors. Hhm, wonder what could be out there? A radioactive cloud perhaps shaped like a smiley face? One floating my way on a northern breeze?
That indeed should cause me concern. But my neighbor offers reassuring words on this very subject. According to them, radiation is entirely natural. I will get more radiation from food, soil and water over my lifetime than an inadvertent cloud of death coming my way. In fact, only 1% of all radiation comes from nuclear plants.
That should soothe my soul. But it does not. What they don’t mention, of course, that the 1% is being given off by nuclear plants that haven’t gone bizerk!
As I said, I used to write these things, so it gives me more than a bit of enjoyment to think of the many drafts this went through internally, massaging the words so that they aren’t so frightening. Crossing lines out like, “Run for your life,” and “See a doctor if you develop.”
For example, in the section If You Grow Food Products is offers the following sage advice: “Do not eat or sell products until further instructions are issued by agricultural officials.” If I have more questions, and I love this one, I can ask my extension agent for the brochure, “Agriculture and Nuclear Power in Florida.” A gripping read to be sure.
As a parent, I naturally wondered what I would need to do if there was a leak and my child was in one of the 47 schools within a 10 mile radius of the nuke plant. Not to worry, says the brochure, the children will be taken to the fairgrounds where they can be picked up. Of course, a year from now they can return to the fairgrounds to enter the cherry tomatoes we were growing that are now the size of a Volkswagen.
I don’t know about you, but it would hard for me to place my trust in school officials to bus my child quickly and efficiently to the fairgrounds when they can’t seem to remember to pick him up half the time on an ordinary school day.
As I look at the maps, I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or scared. I am just outside of Area 1, which is the farthest evacuation zone from the nuke plant. I’m about 150 feet outside the big red circle where the St. Lucie plant serves as the bullseye.
So, do I evacuate, taking into account a possible 150 foot margin of error in their planning? Or do I stay and wait to see if the dog starts glowing in the night before I panic. I know, it’s a crap shoot.
It doesn’t help that they caution in their brochure that the 10-mile area has been thoughtfully divided into eight different areas and that it’s not likely that “everyone within 10 miles would be involved.” I guess you don’t have to worry about evacuating the ones nearest the plant because there’s no need to evacuate the dead.
I do know now that I am supposed to listen for the outdoor warning siren to sound. It will blast for five minutes. That’s reassuring, especially for the people here at the OFC who can’t hear their wife speaking to them from an adjoining room. Frankly, I’m not sure I would notice it either. My ex-wife could drone on for more than five minutes and I never would hear her either. I guess I’ve gotten used to loud, obnoxious noises.
And what do I do if I need to evacuate? You’d think the brochure would tell you to get the hell out of Dodge as quickly as possible. But no, it instructs you to:
- Lock all your doors and windows.
- Turn off all your appliances and faucets.
- Leave your pet at home.
Pack a few days of clothes as well as toiletries. Take your lease or mortgage documents with you, as well as a sleeping bag, two blankets and a pillow for each person and my personal favorite, a cot or lawn chair. Forget the radiation. I’m already screwed because I don’t own a sleeping bag or a cot. Now I have to stop at the store while I’m fleeing for my life just so I can have everything on their damned list.
Of course, I don’t fear life by a nuclear plant. My parents lived near Three Mile Island at one point. I sure do miss them.
Living life on the Treasure Coast by the light of a glowing nuke plant,
– Robb