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I was a senior in college, sitting in a cushy chair in our large school library (and probably drinking a valencia mocha, a vice that may have caused much of my college weight gain) when the ground shook.
It was a decent rumble. Enough that everyone looked at one another in confusion. “Was that an earthquake?” we asked one another. I chalked it up to construction work on campus as one girl loudly declared “I am from California and that was NOT an earthquake, idiots!” (Or something like that with basically the same emphasis.)
It was an earthquake.
There wasn’t much to it. It rattled the bookshelves of our on-campus apartment and woke my roommate from a nap. Nothing damaged, nothing to fret over. But it was the first time I’d felt the earth tremble like that.
Today, it took approximately 30 seconds to verify on Twitter that yes, what we felt was an earthquake. I am at my parents’ house in central Pennsylvania, and here is how it played out:
Me: Is David under my chair?
Me: Hm, OK. (as I still feel my heavy armchair shaking somewhat)
(Two minutes later)
Mom: Dad says we just had an earthquake.
Me: (gets on Twitter)
Amusing at it is to watch Twitter get up in arms about who REALLY felt the quake and who didn’t and what caused it (the break-up of Will and Jada Pinkett Smith being the obvious answer), I’m glad the largest tremble I’ve felt could be mistaken for a shaking washing machine. Now we can move on to worrying about Hurricane Irene.