Unless you were a Boy Scout — spoiler alert: I wasn’t — “preparedness” probably isn’t a value you’ve really sought to cultivate in yourself. Unless you were a Boy Scout — spoiler alert: I wasn’t — “preparedness” probably isn’t a value you’ve really sought to cultivate in yourself.

Sure, every geek has a plan for the zombie apocalypse, but those plans tend to focus more on which household objects would make the best zombie-killing implements, not the boring details such as “If I couldn’t get to the grocery store for fear of having my brains eaten, would I starve?”

The string of recent emergency alerts at Pitt has got me thinking about this. The Pitt police are being commended, rightfully, for their quick response to the Western Psychiatric Institute shooting, and it’s been reported that this level of effectiveness was achieved through years of active-shooter drills to prepare the Pitt police force for just such a situation.

If there’s any lesson to be taken from that, it’s the value of being prepared in an emergency. And that’s something, I can’t help but notice, that is woefully absent from my own life.

Perhaps it’s a function of being a liberal arts major — maybe students who have to work with poisonous or possibly reactive chemicals on a regular basis have a better sense of the importance of safety precautions and detailed crisis response plans. Or maybe I’m just a space cadet. But whatever the reason, in my three years at the University I haven’t taken the time to note the location of almost any of the blue-light boxes scattered around campus for my safety. I don’t note the emergency exits when I walk into a room. And in a crisis situation, that sort of absent-mindedness — after all, how long does it really take to make a note of the blue-light boxes around you? — could cost a lot.

Another thing I’ve failed to do is invest in a first aid kit. It’s easy enough to compile a basic first aid kit — all you need is a shoebox, a few different sizes of bandages, gauze, medical tape, a thermometer and some antiseptics to clean possible cuts and abrasions — but right this second, if I dropped a glass and cut myself on a shard, I’d have to limp three blocks to CVS to buy gauze.

Furthermore, it wasn’t until I looked up the recommended contents of a first aid kit and noticed that most medical organizations instruct you to include a bottle of syrup of ipecac (to induce vomiting in the case that you swallow something poisonous), that it ever occurred to me that I should really have the Poison Control number saved in my phone. 1-800-222-1222 is easy to remember, and it’s even easier to program into your phone when there’s no current emergency. The one thing you DON’T want is to be frantically Googling the Poison Control number after you or someone close to you has ingested something toxic.

There are a few numbers everyone must have programmed into their cell phones. I find myself doing pretty well on that front; the Pitt police are there, SafeRider is present and accounted for, even less urgent contacts like Student Health and the Technology Help Desk all have their places in my address book.

But frankly, that probably isn’t good enough. Assuming that bad things will only happen to you when you have access to your cell phone is naive at best.

I was arrested during the G-20 my freshman year. Handcuffed across the street from Litchfield Towers, I could feel my phone vibrating in my purse as my roommate, who had been my friend for more than 10 years prior to matriculating at Pitt, called once, twice, three times, and I was helpless to reach my phone.

I was only able to contact her — and pass on the message that she should probably call my parents — because when the legal observer from the National Lawyers Guild asked me if there was anyone he could get in touch with for me, I was able to tell him my roommate’s number from memory. If I hadn’t had Gina’s number burned into my head from years of dialing it before I had a cell phone, I would have agonized all night over whether she knew why I hadn’t come home, and my parents would have gotten the news not from an old family friend, but from a stranger from the National Lawyers Guild.

Yet in the time since then, I’ve let several important numbers simply fall out of my head, or I’ve failed to learn them altogether.

Every person at Pitt, my ditzy self included, should have the following phone numbers committed to memory: their home numbers; both of their parents’ cell phone numbers if applicable; all of their siblings’, also if applicable; SafeRider’s; and those of every person they live with. I would also recommend memorizing at least one other in-Pittsburgh emergency number: that of a close friend you could count on to jump out of bed at 3 a.m. for you or to walk to CVS and bring you gauze if you cut your foot on a broken glass. If you have a significant other and the thought of not being able to get in touch with that person scares you, you should memorize his or her phone number, too.

As these past few weeks have shown, there’s no reliable way to stop the things we’re not expecting from happening. But with some attention to detail and a few safety precautions, most of the things we’re not expecting don’t have to be the things we’re not prepared for.

Write Tracey at [email protected].