Time to share another weird story from my weird life:
We rented a home in L.A. for a year that had a “fallout shelter” and I have to admit, that was part of the draw. Not because we thought we would need it or anything, just the idea that we lived in a house with a fallout shelter made both of us happy in an “oh, America. Never stop being you.” sort of way.
As for the so-called shelter? It was a concrete box in the back yard buried maybe a foot below the ground, about the size of your average bread truck. Inside was a single light bulb socket. Not even benches. You got down to it via a wooden ladder and it was covered by a (famously nuclear flames-proof) wooden trap door. We never actually went down because there were icky spiders and bugs and stuff, but it would have been a good place to put a kidnap victim before the serial killing.
The whole idea that you could survive WWIII and live in the middle of Los Angeles is pretty funny to begin with. People have far more hope than sense.
In a colder climate you would call that a cellar. Traditionally, you would put things like potatoes, pickles and raspberry jam in there, but in the LA heat that might not work so well.
A friend of mine rented a place that had a ‘bunker’. He showed me one time, a hatch in a back room, a ladder leading down about 8-10 feet down to the floor. Three fold up bunks, a 'chemical toilet, and a hand cranked air exchange pump. And boy was it quiet down there. It was built in the 50s. I was told there were several of them in that neighborhood.
Time to share another weird story from my weird life:
We rented a home in L.A. for a year that had a “fallout shelter” and I have to admit, that was part of the draw. Not because we thought we would need it or anything, just the idea that we lived in a house with a fallout shelter made both of us happy in an “oh, America. Never stop being you.” sort of way.
As for the so-called shelter? It was a concrete box in the back yard buried maybe a foot below the ground, about the size of your average bread truck. Inside was a single light bulb socket. Not even benches. You got down to it via a wooden ladder and it was covered by a (famously nuclear flames-proof) wooden trap door. We never actually went down because there were icky spiders and bugs and stuff, but it would have been a good place to put a kidnap victim before the serial killing.
The whole idea that you could survive WWIII and live in the middle of Los Angeles is pretty funny to begin with. People have far more hope than sense.
In a colder climate you would call that a cellar. Traditionally, you would put things like potatoes, pickles and raspberry jam in there, but in the LA heat that might not work so well.
A friend of mine rented a place that had a ‘bunker’. He showed me one time, a hatch in a back room, a ladder leading down about 8-10 feet down to the floor. Three fold up bunks, a 'chemical toilet, and a hand cranked air exchange pump. And boy was it quiet down there. It was built in the 50s. I was told there were several of them in that neighborhood.