I was managing a large residential/commercial property in downtown Honolulu when Hurricane Iniki struck the islands. We were lucky. We’d been warned. The amount of loss to life and property was far less than it could have been thanks to that warning. But regardless of how long you have to prepare in advance, when Mother Nature decides to offer up a heavy bitch slap, it’s gonna hurt.

When the warning sirens went off before the break of dawn that day, I knew little about hurricanes. I also knew little about Hawaii’s warning system but figured any noise that loud, that persistent, and that early in the morning couldn’t be a good thing. I did know, however, where to turn for an answer, proving to Darwin that I really wasn’t eligible for the team he was lining up to play tag with what was to be the worst hurricane to hit Hawaii in modern times.

When you live with a type A personality, pesky little things like nonstop blaring sirens are of little concern. If whatever is going on requires your attention, El Capitan will let you know about it. And probably have printed instructions to boot. So if my roommates even let the noise wake them, they immediately rolled back over in their beds and went back to sleep. Normally, with that kind of attitude, I’d abandon you to your fate. But ‘roommates’ translated to ‘the guys who pay my rent on the house’ so I got them all out of bed, issued instructions – though not printed, you bastards – and headed off to work: I had a multi-billion dollar property that took up an entire block of downtown Honolulu to protect. Not to mention some 3,000 people who lived or made their living there.

Hawaii’s version of talking heads, better known as the idiots who thought they ran Gilligan’s Island, were busy preparing for the natural disaster by booking time on the local news channels. Tips on last-minute hurricane preparedness were few in number and did little more than cause a run on all of the islands’ retail operations when they opened that day. Many of those not quite important enough to snag air time, like city council members, lived at my property and instead did what people who think they are important do best: they got in the way. No thanks to their efforts, I managed to rally the staff and start taking steps that would ensure the property’s survival. Possibly the residents’ survival too. And discovering little things about the operation I’d been clueless about. Like that a former manager had ordered all the emergency exit doors, on all 65 floors, be locked as a security measure. When a natural disaster strikes and people die, a lot of blame gets passed around; seldom do you hear about the true idiots responsible for so many deaths.

Fortunately, the islands had several hours to get ready for Hurricane Iniki’s visit. In my little patch of paradise, we’d done all we could do and sat back to anxiously await our deaths. I was on a 25th floor outdoor security point at the anointed hour. Hawaii’s usual light tropical breeze had fled in front of the bigger winds’ path. The air was calm. A common house fly buzzed by and landed on my hand. Several hours later, I went home and caught up on the sleep I’d sacrificed in the face of expected destruction. Honolulu had been spared. Kauai and parts of Maui had not been as lucky.

Except for a few areas of the State, everyone’s efforts at readying themselves for the traumatic blow were for naught. Except for the most basic info from the National Weather Bureau, all of the warnings of doom, predictions of how bad the damage would be, and expectations for the immensity of destruction that would occur, were just plain wrong. But then even when it is extreme weather you are dealing with, it still is nothing more than a weather report. And all over our world the people responsible for weather reports get it wrong. Daily. In my next life I want to be a weatherman. It’s the only job I know of that you can fuck-up every single day and not only not get fired, but get raises and promotions too.

Extreme weather is a nasty bogeyman. We’ve all seen the result. It’s not a pretty sight. So you really can’t blame people for making enormous last minute efforts to dampen the blow when a massive natural event seems likely to occur. Afterwards, it may seem to have been much ado about nothing. But all of those crazy little efforts, should the event actually take place, add up. Peoples’ lives are saved. Property does suffer less damage than it may have. And possibly, one of the talking heads may have got his story right.

So welcome to Bangkok, a city under siege. The bogeyman in this case isn’t just a vague possibility of what might happen. Weeks of horror have already demonstrated what may transpire. Pictures of the flooding in 60 of the country’s provinces ram that message home. Over 8 million Thais have already suffered from what is being called the worst flooding in Thailand in over fifty years. And fifty years ago there were not as many people packed into this tiny country. The potential for loss is enormous. Only diminished by the potential for blame. And no one seems to know what in the hell is going on.

Suvarnabhumi Airport is either closed, opened, may be closed, or is safe. Regardless of its status, those who like to point fingers are already blaring derision over the decision to build Thailand’s newest airport on what was swampland. Whether the airport is destroyed or never gets its feet wet matters little. Blame is the name of the game. Travellers may feel differently. It’s a bit unnerving to hop on a close to twenty hour flight not knowing if the airport will be there when you land. Because death sells almost as well as sex, the government’s efforts to protect the airport from damage doesn’t get attention because of the positive actions, but instead is used to show just how serious the problem is. To the media, Suvarnabhumi Airport has already become a victim of the floods. Meanwhile, operations there continue as normal. No one has donned waders. Flood? What Flood? I can’t help but think that whoever is ultimately responsible for that property isn’t standing overlooking his area of influence, waiting for the catastrophe while a common house fly buzzes about and lands on his hand.

Sandbagged barricades have popped up all over the city. Add a touch of barbed wire and you’d think the Red Shirts were back in town. Oh, wait. They won the election. So guess not. That loss may have been a greater blow to those who were in power than any the flooding may result in, but you know, right now, they are saying thanks to their gods. Someone else will get the blame. It’s no longer their fault. Meanwhile, the new prime minister is quickly discovering that the baht that stops on her desk isn’t just the bankable kind. She’s already being blamed, being called incompetent, and her downfall is being predicted. While in Bangkok the waters have barely gotten anyone’s feet wet. Thanks to the press, it seems she is sharing Suvarnabhumi Airport’s fate. Man the lifeboats, sure hope Thailand’s new government knows how to swim.

There is no arguing about the amount of destruction the floods have already been responsible for this year. It’s rainy season, which takes on a bit more force when you remember it is also called monsoon season. That there will be flooding in Bangkok is a given. That happens every year. But the bogeyman has been unleashed, the people have been warned. Every nightly downpour results in the locals becoming uncommonly tense. Usually when the skies open at this time of the year, everyone out and caught in the downpour huddles together under the closest protection. And laughs. While the nearby street becomes a small river. This year, instead, not as many people are out, not as many are getting wet. And there isn’t the amount of laughter you normally hear. Instead, everyone starts eyeballing the sandbags, they start picturing the swollen rivers that have wiped up so many areas up north. There isn’t a lot of water in Bangkok right now. But there is a lot of fear.

High tides are predictable. So is the path and schedule of the massive amount of water flowing south. For some reason, just when and where that water will hit Bangkok is not. Like Honolulu 19 years ago, Bangkok may be spared the brunt of the Mother Nature’s force. The city prepares itself for something that may never happen. The media and opposing politicians act like it already has. Meanwhile Bangkok’s citizens and visitors wait. The dry streets that greet them each morning along with the sun seem to tell a different story. But the water is coming. And everyone knows you can’t trust Mother Nature. Nor those responsible for protecting us from her wrath.