When the apocalypse gets here, I’m screwed

About three years ago Oprah did a show where she had some guy on that had some title that made him sound really smart and important and government connected who said that one of these days, probably very soon, we’d have a pandemic like the bubonic plague and when we did, the whole world would pretty much shut down and there would be no running water or gas or electricity or anything else. No businesses would be open, and the ATMs wouldn’t work but money would be pretty worthless anyway, transportation wouldn’t be available and you would be pretty much on your own to defend your house and family from death by hunger, disease, looters, riots or gangs.

Great. I struggle daily just to cook up some frozen chicken nuggets or macaroni and cheese every night to feed my family and now I’m finding out I have to plan for my family to eat and survive for at least two weeks with lawlessness, no running water, heat, or Tivo? He predicted no mail either, so it isn’t even like I’ll have my US Weekly or O Magazine to fall back on for emergency emotional support.

This was a lot to take in, so I paused Tivo and then begrudgingly put down my chocolate covered pretzels and Fruit2O and drove myself to Costco. I had never been there before but it seemed like a good place to go for buying life’s essentials in bulk.  My plan was to buy us enough stuff to live on so I wouldn’t have to be one of the inevitable grocery store looters.  Although I’d like the record to reflect that if I did have to loot a grocery store, I would concentrate in Aisle 12 and make sure I cleaned them out of Twizzlers and Take 5 bars, which would be enough sustenance to get me through just about anything.

So I get to Costco all fired up about the end of the world and how I needed to get important stuff for survival and — is that a plasma HD TV? Holy shit that is huge and it looks like I’m right there! Ping Pong tables? OMG – I love ping pong! Check out that leather recliner!! I felt compelled to sit in it and rock for a few minutes. Just to lower my heart rate. I mean, Costco held treasures I had only dreamed about. Who knew you could get new tires or new glasses, or even granite countertops there?  I went in there expecting to see a grocery store and I found a delightful land of electronics and books and random shit that all seemed cheap enough to be within reach. How could you say no to Costco?

But wait. Dammit! I’m here on a mission to save my family from certain death when the worst happens. We need water. And a first aid kit! And….and….Fuck? What do you need in an emergency? I get there and realize that I have no idea what I’m supposed to be buying to keep us alive. I mean, none. But I have found some great flannel sheets, really cheap diapers and ten pounds of frozen crab rangoon.  Need. to. focus. Must…shop….for Armageddon.

It is important to say now that I’m almost physically incapable of a coherent thought in most large retail stores.  Which is why I try to avoid them like Brazilian bikini waxes. Too much visual or audio stimuli makes my brain overheat and short circuit very quickly.  I no longer leave my house after November 1 because I’m sure all that Christmas music and shit all over the place  is a monster that wants to feast on my brain. So I shop on the Internet for everything*, including groceries. (*except Banana Republic, because Leonardo knows my soul and just puts me in the dressing room and brings me stuff, so I my mind doesn’t go into overdrive and somehow bend time).

But I digress.  So it took me two hours in Costco to complete my pre-apocalypse shopping spree to secure my family’s safety and survival, should all hell break loose and society become like it was depicted in “The Road” , where people were eating each other and such (which, by the way, if you read this book and you don’t think it was a masterpiece, I pity you). Given my handicap of shopping at large retail outlets, I did the best one could reasonably expect. I didn’t pass out. I didn’t leave with a migraine. It wasn’t Christmas season. It was kind of spectacular.

It was all so much to take in at the time and I was so giddy with pride in the fact that I had found out firsthand what the inside of Costco looked like and I was a full-fledged member and I got all the stuff we needed to survive and it was all less expensive than the grocery store. I called BD from the car and told him to prepare himself, because I had a lot of stuff and we’d have to store it and we were going to live well when the pandemic struck.  So I pull in the garage and pop the trunk because I couldn’t wait to show off all that I had accomplished.  I anticipated BD’s reaction to be one of awe mixed with gratitude, mixed with deep passion for me because of the bold initiative and genius I had shown.  He surveyed the contents of the trunk, and looked up at me in utter confusion.

BD: “Seriously?”

Love: “Um. Yeah. See the water?!”

BD: “I see an air hockey table.”

Love: “Oh. Well, that isn’t part of the stuff for the apocalypse. That was just on sale.”

BD: “?”

Love: “Maybe you didn’t see the first aid kit?”

BD: “Yeah, I think all of the wine bottles must be covering it.”

Together, we went through the items I felt we would need to survive as a family of three (at the time) and the dog.

  • Two palettes of bottled water
  • A large assortment of gummy fruit snacks
  • A big bear full of animal cookies
  • 7 bags of penne noodles
  • A 10-pack of Hanes crew socks, size 9-12
  • 3 large cans of spaghetti sauce
  • An air hockey table
  • A box of Huggies
  • A family first aid kit
  • 3 pounds of fresh strawberries
  • Eli’s cheesecake sampler, party size
  • A gallon of shampoo
  • Four bottles of wine
  • An 8 pack of Progresso chicken noodle soup
  • Some super-cute Carters footsie pajamas for my toddler

Yeah, I guess I was a little underwhelmed too. At the store it seemed like I had everything necessary plus a few fun extras.  I looked at my husband, worried.

Love: “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

BD: “Uh huh.”

My husband is a problem solver. Me, not so much. But my husband doesn’t like to problem solve in advance of a problem. So I’m sure he would spring into action with ingenious plans to fight off disease and hunger and angry mobs and looters once they were all at our doorstep, but until then, I think his focus is on mowing the lawn every week. But I asked him for his help anyway, hoping that he would see this as the serious situation it is, and start our family survival plan.

Love: “Do you think we need a gun? We might need it to protect ourselves.”

BD: “Maybe.”

Love: “What about cash? Should we have a stash in the house somewhere, in case the ATMs don’t work?!”

BD: “Probably.”

Love: (brightening) “With guns and cash in our house, we’d totally be like the Sopranos.”

BD: “Not really.”

Love: (worried again) “But neither of us knows how to shoot a gun. And I don’t want a gun because they’re scary and our kids will probably wind up shooting us when they’re teenagers.  And I don’t know where a good place to hide cash is. I’ve seen shows on Discovery where the ex-cons find all your money in like 5 seconds. It would take me forever to think of where to hide the money. Where would we hide it?!”

BD: “I don’t know.”

Love: “Well, we need a plan!”

BD: “Huh?”

Love: “For the love of GOD, what are we going to dooooooo?!!”

BD: “?”

Love: “To SURVIVE? You know what would be easier? To just forget I ever saw that show.”

BD: “Maybe.”

Love: “Okay. I have a headache. Why don’t we just work on it slowly. Like maybe we should buy a safe first, so we have somewhere to put the money and the guns.”

BD: “We’re not getting guns.”

Love: “Good plan. What about money?”

BD: “How much money were you thinking?”

Love: “Like $200? Or $2,000? I guess it depends on how much do you think it would cost to pay people not to kill us?”

BD: “More than $200. Maybe like $5,000.”

Love: “That’s a lot of money to hide. And it wouldn’t be earning interest. It just doesn’t seem fiscally responsible. I don’t know…”

BD: “Um…the football game is about to start, so….”

Love: “Yeah, okay. Right. Why don’t we discuss this later?”

BD: “Yeah, definitely.”

And, three years later, we have weathered an economic meltdown and a global pandemic and once our power went out for 45 minutes and we still don’t have guns or cash in our house and we’re still alive and US Weekly is still being delivered.  But every three months I have a panic attack about how we just have some 3-year old penne noodles and Progresso soup in the cellar to keep us alive. And BD started drinking our water supply because he said its past the expiration date and he isn’t letting it go to waste.  So we don’t even have that.

I guess I just want everybody to know when the world meltdown occurs, we’re fucked.  When they find and/or eat our dead bodies, we didn’t die because I totally didn’t see it was coming or because I didn’t think about planning for it, because I did!  I donate 3 hours of time each month to panicking thinking about planning for it and that should count for something.  What is really most important is just that everyone knows that I was right about it coming and that you don’t use this information to break in my house first because you know I don’t have a gun, or food or money, or this month’s “O”. And we won’t taste good. I promise.

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14 responses to “When the apocalypse gets here, I’m screwed

  1. All that matters is that you tried. I wouldn’t kill you; I would just play with your air hockey table.
    So, $200 not to kill you? Sooooold.

    From Love – Thank God that’s it. Because we don’t really have much more, unless Monopoly money counts.

  2. This is so awesome I can’t stand it! I mean, not the being fcuked, but the YOUness.

    And as for getting the husband on board with an Armageddon plan, he was supportive of the square foot garden I wanted.

    Anyway, that ping pong table will come in handy. The LAST thing you’ll want to do is roam the streets, you’ll need something to divert you until the madness dies down.

    Or books work, too. 🙂

    From Love – Coming from you, that is really a compliment. I’m not sure I’m qualified to nurture a garden, even of the on square foot variety…but I’ll add it to my quarterly disaster planning thoughts and see what bubbles up.

  3. This is the best survival plan I’ve ever seen… I think you’ll be just fine… 🙂
    Awesome…

    From Love – Are you just saying that to lull me into a false sense of security that you won’t come and eat my family? Because that would be really mean.

  4. I don’t it. Wine and cheesecake samplers are ALL I would need to survive. Screw the husband and children….I will be fat and drunk!

    But Belle is right. It is the thought that counts.

    BUT! When you do get all your money and guns and start living like gangsters, maybe you could make a music video or something….

    From Love – You might be on to something. My son could dance in it and I could wear all my gold chains. In fact, maybe if I spend $2000 on a gold chain, I can wear our ‘don’t eat me’ money and I don’t have to worry about hiding it. You are a genius!

  5. I think the strawberries make sense…you could probably barter those…

    From Love – They completely made sense if the apocalypse would have just shown up a day later. AND I would have looked like a genius, which is sort of my main goal in life.

  6. It’s likely that if there was an apocalypse, I could live off my fat stores for years. I am totally fine.

    From Love – But Topamax would not be available. You might become ravenous. May I suggest a cheesecake sampler just in case?

  7. Pingback: Tweets that mention When the apocalypse gets here, I’m screwed « (Love) Notes To Self -- Topsy.com

  8. Hilarious. Great. Now I’M all stressed about the apocalypse.

    From Love – My advice? Go to Costco.

  9. hilarious!!! I think your purchases were perfect for the apocalypse – though I wish costco had bulk options of take five bars and red licorice (i’m more of a red rope girl than twizzlers). lovin’ the blog – definitely feel like I’d be happy in your tribe.

    From Love – Even though I do have some trouble getting past your position on the red rope vs. Twizzlers thing, I definitely hope you’ll consider joining my tribe. It may take us some time as we inhale Take 5 bars together, but I think I can win you over to my way of thinking about Twizzlers. On the other hand, its comforting that we won’t have to fight to the death in Aisle 12 over anything but the Take 5s.

  10. Wow, hilarious. I laughed so hard I peed. Not in my pants, I went to the restroom. No, I didn’t laugh when I looked down.
    Anyway, great post. I too don’t do so hot with the planning but the hockey table seems like a good idea. The end of the world might be boring.

    From Love – See? So maybe I’m not as bad off as I thought…except that it runs on electricity and I’m told that’s the first thing to go…damn.

  11. I love the book “The Road”. I couldn’t put it down and made my husband read it when I was done. I feel pretty stongly that someday that could happen and I wouldn’t know where to begin to prepare. I think I would want to dig an underground shelter in the woods in my backyard and have it stashed with can goods…and a can opener. They didn’t have a can opener in the book! Such an ingenious device and so easily overlooked. Just like a wine opener which is why screw top wine bottles are a great invention!

    From Love – I’m feeling your vibe on the screw off tops for wine. I’m definitely prepared to open wine should the apocalypse begin soon. I need to get my husband to read The Road. It will be one of his favorites if he ever gets around to it. Maybe once the apocalypse gets here he’ll have some time then.

  12. Always Worried Bout Sumthin

    Ha! Ha! I found you on stumble! I Love you article!!

  13. I just stumbled here and DANG this is funny.
    I admit the idea of the apocalypse scares me, but I’m pretty sure that if I can stay in good with God, I’ll be okay. We’re tight that way.
    But until that? I dunno, our house has a stock of food and water, but guns and money? I really doubt it. And when I graduate next week I’ll have to start worrying about that for ME!
    Crazy, I know.

  14. I think it will likely take most people a good 10-12 days to realize the Apocolyse is upon us (most people tend to be pretty slow on the uptake) so as long as we’re aware, we can get to Costco, build a hideout and withdraw all of our cash before the others catch on. The Twizzlers sound like a good idea though. I think I’ll go ahead and stock up. If I happen to eat the supply in the meantime, I’ll resort back to Plan A.

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