Tropical Storm Debby is shuffling around Florida and headed to Tybee Island later this week.

Vacationers are running message traps on social media, asking what to do: stay or leave. Will the rental companies refund their money if they decide to leave voluntarily? What do I need to stock up on? How bad will it be?

These are typical questions you gotta ask when staying on a barrier island as a guest with a tropical depression looming.

The wealth of advice on social media runs the gamut of opinions.

Pack up and leave Yank. Don’t turn your vacation into a Dammitt Derby. Relax, stock up on water, ice, and lunch meats, and be prepared for no electricity. This is an excellent time to enjoy your kids. Remember, this is a tropical depression, not a hurricane. Give it a couple of days. Yes, it will flood in low-lying areas. Stay on high ground. Join a hurricane party. Check with your rental company’s customer service.

All good advice.

Well, maybe it was rude when a Yank told another Yank to go home.

My friend captured the psychology of such pending events.

“You would think they were giving away free beer at Kroger. But people are just getting ready for a storm. Have you noticed that people always seem nicer to each other when there seems to be a storm coming? It’s almost like a big sense of camaraderie and unity. Wish people could be like that all the time.”

Yes, they are getting ready. Acts of random kindness often accompany pending crises and always afterward.

Take the 60-ish biker with tattoos down his arms and long hair, wearing a leather vest with gang patches, getting off his Harley to help the church lady load three flats of water into her car.

The 9-year-old girl was concerned that the other kids would not have enough Count Choc-ula cereal if they took two boxes. And a stock boy unsealing a crate of Count Choc-ula and showing her there would be plenty.

The employee who stopped and asked if he could help the short Asian woman reach a top shelf for a box of vanilla wafers.

Gotta make puddin’ for the grandkids, she said; they love puddin’. Said with a bright smile and a Savannah-Asian accent borne from years of living here.

My friend asked the question on all our minds.

Why can’t we be this way all the time?

I don’t know, but I truly wish we were.

But I am sure some grandkids will eat some fine puddin’ this evening; a church lady will feel more secure about her water needs; and the ninety-nine 9-year-olds on Tybee who like the Count will smile at breakfast.