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I've been nearly hit by lightning twice in my life, and both incidents happened in Central Florida. The most recent was on an AirTran flight from Orlando to Atlanta, where the plane was hit not too long after takeoff. It was a 7 am flight, and I was dozing, but a loud crack and blinding flash brought me to full consciousness. All I remember seeing was the red of my eyelids, which squeezed shut with the flash.
The first happened years ago, when I was working a shift on Tom Sawyer's Island in the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World. Fortunately, this time I'd gotten my raft in dock before the rain hit. (That wasn't always the case.) And I was waiting with the guests who'd sought shelter in the TSI waiting area.
The roof over the wait area slopes down beyond it, covering a bit of the TSI dock. That's where I waited, on the east side of the dock, toward what we called "Duck Island." That was a small island, barely large enough for a couple trees, but it was inconveniently located - we had to push the bow of the raft away from the mainland dock every time we cast off, in order to avoid running aground on it. And while the island was small, the trees on it at the time were not. I worked at TSI before Disney built Splash Mountain, so the trees of Duck Island were then the tallest point between Pecos Bill and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.
I was chatting with another TSI host and a few guests, who were waiting inside the queue. For some reason, I turned toward Duck Island, and felt every hair on my arms rise. Sportcasters abuse the phrase "there's electricity in the air," but if you've ever literally felt that, the memory of that sensation never will leave you.
My brain had no time to process what was happening before the crushing blast. It's funny, but looking back upon the strike, you feel like you anticipated it. That's because your brain sends out the command to "Get down: NOW!" before it passes along to your consciousness the news of the incoming crack and flash which elicited that command.
So there I was, curled up in a ball under the queue rail on the TSI dock, before I knew what had almost hit me.
A charcoal smell hit my nose, forcing open my eyes. The guests we'd been speaking with were on their knees, and the ones behind them stood, faces frozen, staring toward Duck Island. A child cried. I looked toward the island, and saw a tree's arm, severed to the ground, bridging the water between the island and the dock's exit pathway. The cooling rain returned. No one was hurt and nothing was damaged.
Save the tree, of course, whose fallen branches maintenance crews soon cleared.
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