It was 7:30 a.m. and I was in the dining room of a small hotel in Rosemead, Calif. I had a 9 a.m. meeting at Southern California Edison Company (SCE), about 15 minutes away. At the time, I was writing and producing Tucson Electric Power’s annual report and going to SCE for some tips from their award-winning communications staff.

While contemplating my omelet, a thunderous rumble shook the room with a tuba-like hum. My coffee swirled, stirred by a phantom spoon. Chandeliers bounced. Hundreds of hanging wine glasses threw off a shrill, high-pitched tinkle. The low-high concerto was deafening.

While I sat frozen by confusion, waiters and cooks raced for the exit. Finally, a diner stood up and choked out a half-whisper, half-scream: Aaaahth… quake!

We scrambled out to a patio where the tremors made waves in the pool like they have at Breakers Water Park.

When the shaking stopped, I hurried to the lobby elevator. But inside my head, I heard my wife’s savvy little voice, "Don’t be stupid, you could get trapped in there. Take the stairs."

After climbing three flights, I burst into my room. I packed fast but for some weird reason, stopped to brush my teeth. Back in the lobby, I paid my bill and fled to the rental car.

The radio reported a 5.9 earthquake centered in Rosemead. The time was 7:42 a.m. Oct. 1, 1987.

At SCE, about a dozen plate-glass windows had been shattered. Hundreds of people had evacuated the building, some being attended by paramedics. In the parking lot, I talked with some employees. Intriguingly, they all had their car keys.

"We know the drill," one worker said.

After a tremor, they could be kept out of the building for hours or sent home. In the chaos, it wasn’t feasible to even try to find anyone on the communications staff.

Back in the car, the news on the radio was frightening. Throughout the San Gabriel Valley, the power and phones were out, water and gas lines ruptured, Los Angeles International Airport shut down, and some freeways were closed.

And there I stood at the epicenter. I made an executive decision to flee for my life! Carefully, I mazed out of harm’s way and didn’t stop driving until Marina del Rey. I found a pay phone to call TEP but the circuits were overloaded.

At that point, it dawned on me I had become an accidental tourist. Since my flight wasn’t scheduled to leave until 6 p.m., I had a free day!

I walked around the piers, then cruised through Santa Monica on my way to Beverly Hills - my first time in Tinseltown.

When I stepped onto the world-famous Rodeo Drive in my business suit, I felt like a Hollywood celebrity. I looked for a small gift for my wife but the prices scared me as much as the earthquake.

The clerks were exceedingly courteous and genuinely interested in helping me shop. Because of my attire, they must have thought I was rich.

For fun, I decided to play along. On went the sunglasses to "conceal" my identity. While looking at $1,000 sweaters, a clerk approached. After some small talk, she asked if I was in "the business."

I had no idea what she meant.

"You know, the movie business," she said. "What do you do?"

"What do I do? Oh, I’m a writer."

She acted impressed for about two minutes - the time it took for me to leave without buying anything.

Outside, I found the phones were back up. I called my secretary to call my wife to tell her I was safe. When she called my wife, in her angst she just blurted out, "Don’t worry, your husband is OK."

"Why wouldn’t he be OK?" my wife replied calmly.

She explained everything in detail, and that I had just called from Rodeo Drive.

My wife thanked her for calling and then shared some quick wit: "I’m really not the one who should worry. Is he in Beverly Hills with a company credit card?"

This is a true story, drawn from Yohem’s 25-year award-winning communications career with the Southern Arizona Home Builders Association, Tucson Electric Power, and Southwest Gas. His column looking at the lighter side of "challenges" in the business world appears the first and third Mondays of each month in Inside Tucson Business.