Life in Louisville? No. Let’s talk about death in Louisville.
One of my first assignments at my new gig involved visiting a National Weather Service substation to interview an expert about the importance of heating and cooling systems. (That’s actually more interesting than you think!) Standing in the lobby with one of my coworkers, I stared at these giant posters of photos from a deadly tornado that had ripped through Louisville back in the ’70s. Before then, I had failed to realize that tornadoes touchdown in Kentucky all the time. (Isn’t that a Kansas thing?!) Needless to say, I began replaying scenes from “Twister” in my head and began fearing for my life. Instead of “cow… another cow” it would be “horse… another horse.”
Cut to a week or so later. Before making the drive across the Ohio River from Louisville to Jeffersonville, Indiana, to meet this same coworker, he suggests I take the Second Street Bridge instead of this big huge one whose name I forget. Later, he mentioned he’d suggested I take the smaller bridge because “less people die on it.” He talked about how dangerous the bridges are and how many accidents are on it. We talked about why, and I learned that I should always drive in the far right lane because it’s usually head-on collisions on the bridge. Good to know.
Another week later: Same coworker and I somehow got on the subject of survivalists. I mentioned that my boyfriend’s parents provided him with a backpack equipped with food and other essential supplies to last two weeks, for use in times of emergencies. (Because you never know.) This coworker mentioned that in the event of some global nuclear attack, Louisville might get wiped out pretty quickly because some giant weapons manufacturer is based nearby. Then, we talked about how quickly nuclear blasts kill people.
Weeks later, at a meeting on a street called Dixie Highway, this same coworker mentioned that the street is often called Dixie Deathway or Deathixie Highway or some equivalent of “Bad News Lane.” Again, he tells me about that traffic fatalities are common on this street.
After this, I told my coworker that he need to stop telling me about all the ways I could die here in Louisville. It’s making me paranoid. We laughed, but I think he took note. It cannot be good for the soul to be concentrating so much on scary but statistically unlikely events. I watch enough of that dumb Spike TV show.
To end on a happy note: Did you know the Louisville Zoo has a baby polar bear? Her name is Qannik. She has her own Twitter and recently tweeted about discovering Pinterest. One of these days, I want to visit her. She sounds awesome.
Obviously, there’s a .00000001% chance she will maul me to death.
