This morning, we were in a little family restaurant in fiendishly hot Rancho Mirage, California. We had just finished breakfast and were about to get on the road to drive back to L.A. Sweet Willie had gone out to the car to grab some ones to tip the waitress, while Viva and I finished up orange juice and coffee, respectively. All of a sudden, the floor started rumbling. Since I am an East Coast urban gal, my first thought was, "That's weird, there's no subway here," followed immediately by, "Oh, crap, it's an earthquake." I grabbed Viva and looked around to gauge whether I should run to the doorway or under the table.
I could hear things falling and crashing in the kitchen. Most people were pretty calm; one woman had crawled under the table in her booth. The only things I was worried about were (a) Sweet Willie was outside, and I was hoping nothing fell on him; and (b) the ceiling fan was almost directly above our table and we may have been in danger of being beheaded if the quake went on for very long.
Thankfully, we came out of it none the worse for wear. You can read the "news" about it here.
Nice end to our little mini-vacation, no?