A 'Safe Room' of One's Own

The code is orange. The sheets, plastic. The tape, duct.

President Bush has put the nation to task, and I'm taking him up on it: To prepare for the worst, I'm duct-taping myself and my two cats into my spare bedroom to seal us off from the world in a mock "safe room." I'm to spend 24 hours in a plastic-coated 10-by-12 room, equipped with food, water, a computer and a bucket (with lid and soapy water), which I plan to put off using as a Port-a-Potty as long as humanly possible.

"Turn off all ventilation, including furnaces, air conditioners, vents and fans. Seek shelter in an internal room, preferably one without windows. Seal the room with duct tape and plastic sheeting," advises the Federal Emergency Management Agency's website. Here we go.

It takes 20 minutes to tape my makeshift bunker and line the door bottoms with plastic sheeting. Had there been a real attack, I suppose I would be dead in that amount of time, unless I was considerably upwind from ground zero. But once the room's two doors (one to a patio, the other into the apartment) are lined in silver duct tape and the air vent is sealed off, I'm feeling airtight. Then the sneezing begins. Damn allergies. I scan the room, looking for my allergy medicine, but all I get is a mental picture of a bottle of Allegra, sitting on the kitchen counter. Sneezing, I glare at the cats, which are climbing on a stack of boxes in the closet, blissfully unaware that their dander has put me in this state.

But I'll soon discover that my allergies are the least of the day's concerns.

10:45 a.m.

Glancing around the room, I realize my duct-taping job isn't finished. If I really want to keep things out, I should seal up each plate of glass in the French doors that go out to my patio. There are 20 squares. This should pass time.

11:06

There's a red Suburban skidding around the muddy vacant lot behind my apartment. I wonder if he sees me duct-taping my windows. I feel conspicuous and paranoid.

11:10

Feeding time. I glance around at my provisions and settle on hummus, Wheat Thins, grapes and cheese. I think of one of my mom's favorite phrases, "cheese is binding," and eye the bucket distastefully. I limit my water intake.

It all started last week, when my editor asked me for a different angle on the government's newfound love of duct tape. I told him I'd create my own sealed-in "safe room" and stay in there for a prescribed number of hours.

"Just make sure you don't suffocate," one of my co-workers e-mailed. "Take a fork so you can poke emergency air holes. I don't think 'asphyxiated in mock safe room' would make a good entry on the worker's comp form."

Pshaw, thought I. This whole duct-tape-shelter thing is bound to fail. Houses here are built quickly, cheaply and are porous enough that, even in my attempts to seal myself in, I'll still be getting some kind of seepage. Right? I'm alarmed Friday, when I go to Wal-Mart, The Home Depot and Lowe's and find that supplies of duct tape are greatly depleted. Wal-Mart is out of plastic sheeting. And the home-improvement stores have large "emergency" displays that peddle duct tape, plastic sheeting, generators, batteries, flashlights and other emergency supplies.

People are just grasping for peace and order, I tell myself. This can't actually be effective.

11:26

I finish taping the glass, and I'm starting to remember other things I forgot, like a lamp. There's no overhead light, so once it hits 5:30 I'll have to rely on a night-light and the glow from the computer.

12:35 p.m.

I've planned a road trip to California. Spoken with my father on the phone. Called a friend. My cat keeps jumping on me and seems to be drooling as he purrs. The other one is in the closet, and every few minutes he screams. I notice that my allergies have calmed. I decide the cats aren't to blame, this time-it was probably the dust I stirred up in my taping blitz.