Thirty years ago, I was introduced to a book that changed my life. With “Pain Free,” I was able to eliminate pain I’d had so long I couldn’t tell it from death and taxes. And that pain didn’t come back. So I became a top-drawer proselytizer. I was out to cure everybody. The apostle Paul had nothing on me.

I was this close to donning a crisp white shirt and tie and bicycling up to your door to ask if you had accepted Pete Egoscue as your Lord and Savior. I approached total strangers about their errant foot strikes. I badgered my fellow postal workers no end. I was, in short, completely obnoxious.

And there is no better proof of my complete obnoxion than that I harried dozens of my victims into telling me they “bought the book!” They didn’t read the book. They didn’t do the exercises. So I rolled my eyes. Later it occurred to me that there was something to be learned from the fact that so many people were willing to part with cash for a book they wouldn’t use just to make me shut up. But still. Why go halfway when you have the book?

And what does that have to do with plate tectonics? Well. I’ll tell you.

We’re penciled in for a major tectonic event here in Portland. In fact, a magnitude-9 earthquake has a really good chance of occurring even in the ever-dwindling remainder of my lifetime. And we’re all supposed to be preparing for it.

I’m not afraid of this earthquake. I couldn’t say why, except that it doesn’t seem like something I could personally prevent, and also I think geology is super cool, and having a whole mess of geology land on my head all at once is kind of exciting. Also? Most days I’m banking that the odds are against that particular earthquake happening that particular day, and so far I’ve been vindicated. Preparing for it seems to involve stocking up on non-perishable food items and making sure I have plenty of water in store; maybe a good tent, a space blanket, warm clothing, and a toity seat on a bucket.

Which is all well and good. But where does one put it all? I’ve got food in the house, after all. What if I can’t get in the house? I could stick stuff in the basement but what happens if the rest of my house ends up there, all crumbled up? What If I’m stuck under a fallen beam? Should I be walking around at all times with peanut butter packets strapped to me like body armor?

This matter of placement confounds me. If I were in serious wildfire country on a single road, I’d have a damn go-bag by the door. But I can’t run from an earthquake.

Still, the water bit at least seemed like a good idea. One day about fifteen years ago I found some very large plastic food storage containers recycled from restaurants. I bought them, cleaned them out, and filled them with water from the hose. I can’t lift them, but I hand-trucked them into my tool shed outside, reasoning that the house wasn’t going to fall on that. It made me feel pretty smug for a while.

They’re still there. That water has probably grown hair by now, and there’s always something better to do than try to mule out a ton of water from the shed and replace it. Besides, I’m using them to hold up a pile of chicken wire and landscape cloth.

Basically, it can be said that when it comes to our earthquake, I bought the book, but I didn’t read it.

But hope springs eternal. I just found ten food-safe, stackable 3.5 gallon container cubes on the internet—altogether a better idea. I can lift them. I can move them. I felt smug as soon as I placed the order. I felt Prepared. They just showed up in a big box on the porch and I hauled it inside. Yes indeed I did: I am The Preparinator.

And there the box sits in my living room like the monolith from 200l: A Space Odyssey. I’m pretty sure my hips will eventually have developed a reflexive swing around it in the same way I generally avoid running into walls. It’s nice and flat on top. Great place to perch your bags and coat and stuff when you’re coming inside. By the time I’ve got heavier winter gear to shuck off, I suspect I won’t see that box at all.

So, still no water, come the apocalypse. But I am pain free.