It was just over a year ago when the media filled Lower Manhattan with anxiety over a hurricane that was expected to flood the city.  I had been living in the financial district (near Wall Street) for over ten years and there was nothing like this predicted before.  Zone A, the area surrounding the apartment I live (my building is Zone B), was evacuated.  All businesses boarded up and sand bagged their establishments.  After a good amount of day drinking, my wife and I, along with our Dachshund (the hot dog), bunkered down and were ready.  When the storm hit the city the floods never came; instead, we were greeted with sunshine and lots of supplies we didn’t need.  Other areas in New Jersey and upstate New York saw significant flooding, but for Lower Manhattan, it had appeared to be a storm created by Duane Reade.

Forgive me if I didn’t get too excited over the initial reports of Sandy.

A beautiful day full of sunshine and family fun, you see, in the past year my wife and I had a child.  Life had changed and now we were spending the day in TriBeCa and Battery Park City with our newborn son (and of course, the hot dog), celebrating Halloween.   (READ: No day drinking.)  A quick brunch with the family and then we were home.  Meanwhile, the news reports continued.

I don’t remember if it was the mandatory evacuation of Zone A or the shutting down of the subway, but sometime during these announcements nervousness began to set in.  It wasn’t long after this that I was at Duane Reade for our first round of supplies: water, batteries, and granola bars topped the list of needs.  Everyone from our surrounding neighborhood had to be evacuated by 7pm, the morning tide was to bring an initial storm surge that could potentially cause flooding.  We went to sleep and woke up early the next morning.

The morning news had reporters in Battery Park.  At high tide there was a splash over the side.  Another bust it appeared, but the weather men continued to disagree and believed it will be the evening tide, which coincidentally would be the same time the storm would reach land that would cause the problems.  Still, watching some water splash over the rail had a familiar Irene type feel.

It is impossible not to get sucked into the weather reporting hype.  Whether it’s watching the guy on Fox with the big muscles or the guy on CBS with the rolled up dress shirt (you know he means business), they continue to build the drama: “This is the perfect storm!”  Duane Reade on Wall Street is still open.  I go and buy more supplies.  Back on TV there is discussion of the storm surge, high tide, a cold front from the North, and a full moon as leading factors to why we need to be afraid.  Every hour there is another update and every hour the report is the same: “The storm is gaining speed and intensity and is taking the turn.”  I go back to Duane Reade for coffee, and more supplies.

Around 5pm the storm approaches Atlantic City, but doesn’t “officially” land.  The tide begins to rise with high tide not expected until almost 9pm.  The wind has increased, especially on the 19^th floor where we reside.  Our chandelier begins swaying, back and forth.  Then the wind increases more.  The chandelier is now swaying four to six inches right to left, right to left.  I periodically grab it so that it doesn’t crash into the wall.  Around 7pm our building emails us: The surrounding buildings have been contacted by Con Edison (electric company) and will have their power cut soon.  No word on our building.  Minutes pass, and right when we begin to celebrate…there is darkness.  All power is out in Lower Manhattan.  Now is when it gets crazy.  The wind picks up, the water moves in.  Ladies and gentlemen: Meet Sandy.