By IN LA BY HEIDI MANTEUFFEL
There I was in the middle of the film’s most romantic scene, and the entire theater started shaking. I discovered during a viewing of “Shopgirl,” that earthquakes can directly hit Santa Monica.
So tacky, I thought. It’s hardly necessary to rattle the seats like we’re watching “Jurassic Park” at Universal Studios.
Quickly after, as the audience was looking around in gasps of amazement, I realized I had experienced my first Santa Monica-centered earthquake.
I’m aware that we can feel earthquakes from distant epicenters, but I didn’t know there was a hot spot just off the Third Street Promenade.
Apparently, there was a 3.1 quake five miles northwest of Santa Monica, right off the coast where thousands bike, walk and rollerblade on.
Considering the wake of recent devastating hurricanes to our Southland, mud-slides in Guatemala, and the catastrophic earthquake in Pakistan, I wasn’t psyched about being stuck in a LA movie theater during the initial rattle. I’m not one for waiting to see if a short, yet startling shake is the precursor to something phenomenally worse.
I looked up at the enormous gray blocks jutting out of the theater’s ceiling, wondering just how well the massive material was secured. Not wanting to be a fraidy cat, though, I tried to sit and bear it, my hands wound tightly around my Rice Krispy bar.
It wasn’t too hard to focus as the film’s storyline and actors were great. But I could hardly think about that as my Jetta was stuck stationary in a brigade of cars that made its way to the fifth level of the parking structure.
Tons of cement barreling down on you isn’t a great way to go, either.
I tried to breathe in and out — as my yoga instructor taught me — to successfully release my fear. But my pessimistic-realist side put my yoga instructor into a downward dog. My pessimistic side can be a real jerk sometimes.
However, 20 minutes later we made our way out safely, back to our rent-control apartments. True, Santa Monica isn’t Kansas, but sometimes there really is no place like home.
I think what scares me most about earthquakes is their lack of warning. You don’t often get time to evacuate, leaving only your ’80s CD collection to receive the brunt of the damage. You could be on a LA freeway underpass, a pedestrian road bridge or in an underground parking structure, and not know you were driving into the onslaught of disaster. Or, you could be in a movie theater, with 100 people running around panicking as the ceiling collapses. I know those are my favorite kinds of movies.
Soothing image, I know. But you can’t live life avoiding every elevator and on-ramp in SoCal in fear of the next gigantic quake. Well you could — actually, that might be the solution to LA’s traffic problem.
I’m not a big eat, drink and be merry person. Merry is for Santas. But I do promote not running around worrying when the next earthquake will come. It’s not your boyfriend. It can check in when it wants, eat all your food, and leave when it feels like it too. Wait, maybe that is your boyfriend.
Just don’t worry about when it will happen. A little rattle might actually help the plot of some Hollywood blockbuster movies. Especially if they aren’t romantic dramas. (Heidi)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on October 25, 2005. Read the original PDF.