Only The Dumb Survive
I got an email from our Human Resources department today. I shall share a bit with you:
"I recently was approached by several employees asking how they can replenish some of their earthquake supplies. Well, now is the time to put in an order and as in the past (insert name of my company) will pay for the shipping "
This got me thinking.
I live alone, and I have one earthquake supply--my dusty flashlight under my bed. I just tested it, and the batteries are dead.
So technically, I have no earthquake supplies.
I used to be pretty prepared though. Two years ago I got freaked out after watching some alarmist news segment, rushed to the 99-cent store and tried to put a survival kit together for myself. The survivalist.
At the 99 cent store I purchased a laundry basket, some dusty cans of cocktail sausages with those cool key opener things that I don't even know how to use, a flashlight, some batteries, a few cans of tuna fish, some bottled water, some fruit juice boxes, a lighter, some candles, a box of these peanut butter dipped in chocolate wafer things, a can of peas, some crackers, and some red gloves.
I spent approximately 10 dollars and I was quite pleased.
When I got home I added some clean underwear, a bra, a change of clothes, and some photos of my family to the basket.
I then put the laundry basket/earthquake kit behind my bed in case the quake hit while I was sleeping---rationalizing that I would then know exactly where the stuff was. I had feng sheuied my room that year and my bed was angled into a corner at the time, so this left a perfect spot to stash my new survival kit. I was quite proud, and fancied myself an adult.
I felt better. Less panicky, and more prepared for life's emergencies.
But eventually the panic wore off and I stopped thinking about life's emergencies.
So one night, I started rummaging around in my survival kit. I was reading a book and I was hungry and I realized that rather than traipsing downstairs to the kitchen-- which was far-- I could easily reach into my kit and eat something out of IT. Who would know? So what?
I opened the peanut butter chocolate wafer things and I chomped one of those down in my bed, while reading. I am not proud of this.
But the thing is, I have no will-power so I continued to do this nightly until the peanut butter/chocolate wafer things were a thing of the past.
A few weeks went by and I needed tuna fish for some pasta dish I was making for a BBQ. I didn't have any tuna fish in the kitchen, so rather than going to the store, which was a mile away, I went upstairs, which was 20 ft away, and grabbed the tuna fish out of the survival kit. Because I was totally going to replace the tuna tomorrow. I just needed this tuna, today.
Not to mention I had forgotten to put a can-opener in the kit so the survival tuna would have been virtually useless and tragic until I bought a second can-opener.
I never replaced that tuna.
As time wore on, I wore that poor little kit out..drinking the fruity juice-boxes and eating the crackers in bed at night and lighting the candles for ambiance. It was fun, and I was having a little nocturnal party every night. Scarfing down the survival food with reckless abandon, I was happy. Life was good.
I actually had packed an outfit I really like to wear, thinking it would make me look and feel good--even if my house fell apart so I eventually took that out of the kit and wore it to work and never put any replacement survival clothing back into the basket.
Then, about a month later, I lost interest and moved onto some other obsession, conveniently forgetting that my home straddles about 13 fault lines.
That poor kit sat behind my bed for a good year before I even looked at it again.
I found it one day while rearranging the furniture in my room. I dragged it out, dusted it off, and took a good, hard look at what I had armed myself with in the face of disaster.
I discovered one red glove.
A bra.
A flashlight.
The cool key cocktail sausages
and a bent picture of my family.
So if the big one struck I would be naked (except for the bra and one red glove), I'd have a flashlight with no batteries, and I'd be eating salty cocktail sausages without any water, while looking at a photo of my family wondering what went so wrong.
I'm going to die.
"I recently was approached by several employees asking how they can replenish some of their earthquake supplies. Well, now is the time to put in an order and as in the past (insert name of my company) will pay for the shipping "
This got me thinking.
I live alone, and I have one earthquake supply--my dusty flashlight under my bed. I just tested it, and the batteries are dead.
So technically, I have no earthquake supplies.
I used to be pretty prepared though. Two years ago I got freaked out after watching some alarmist news segment, rushed to the 99-cent store and tried to put a survival kit together for myself. The survivalist.
At the 99 cent store I purchased a laundry basket, some dusty cans of cocktail sausages with those cool key opener things that I don't even know how to use, a flashlight, some batteries, a few cans of tuna fish, some bottled water, some fruit juice boxes, a lighter, some candles, a box of these peanut butter dipped in chocolate wafer things, a can of peas, some crackers, and some red gloves.
I spent approximately 10 dollars and I was quite pleased.
When I got home I added some clean underwear, a bra, a change of clothes, and some photos of my family to the basket.
I then put the laundry basket/earthquake kit behind my bed in case the quake hit while I was sleeping---rationalizing that I would then know exactly where the stuff was. I had feng sheuied my room that year and my bed was angled into a corner at the time, so this left a perfect spot to stash my new survival kit. I was quite proud, and fancied myself an adult.
I felt better. Less panicky, and more prepared for life's emergencies.
But eventually the panic wore off and I stopped thinking about life's emergencies.
So one night, I started rummaging around in my survival kit. I was reading a book and I was hungry and I realized that rather than traipsing downstairs to the kitchen-- which was far-- I could easily reach into my kit and eat something out of IT. Who would know? So what?
I opened the peanut butter chocolate wafer things and I chomped one of those down in my bed, while reading. I am not proud of this.
But the thing is, I have no will-power so I continued to do this nightly until the peanut butter/chocolate wafer things were a thing of the past.
A few weeks went by and I needed tuna fish for some pasta dish I was making for a BBQ. I didn't have any tuna fish in the kitchen, so rather than going to the store, which was a mile away, I went upstairs, which was 20 ft away, and grabbed the tuna fish out of the survival kit. Because I was totally going to replace the tuna tomorrow. I just needed this tuna, today.
Not to mention I had forgotten to put a can-opener in the kit so the survival tuna would have been virtually useless and tragic until I bought a second can-opener.
I never replaced that tuna.
As time wore on, I wore that poor little kit out..drinking the fruity juice-boxes and eating the crackers in bed at night and lighting the candles for ambiance. It was fun, and I was having a little nocturnal party every night. Scarfing down the survival food with reckless abandon, I was happy. Life was good.
I actually had packed an outfit I really like to wear, thinking it would make me look and feel good--even if my house fell apart so I eventually took that out of the kit and wore it to work and never put any replacement survival clothing back into the basket.
Then, about a month later, I lost interest and moved onto some other obsession, conveniently forgetting that my home straddles about 13 fault lines.
That poor kit sat behind my bed for a good year before I even looked at it again.
I found it one day while rearranging the furniture in my room. I dragged it out, dusted it off, and took a good, hard look at what I had armed myself with in the face of disaster.
I discovered one red glove.
A bra.
A flashlight.
The cool key cocktail sausages
and a bent picture of my family.
So if the big one struck I would be naked (except for the bra and one red glove), I'd have a flashlight with no batteries, and I'd be eating salty cocktail sausages without any water, while looking at a photo of my family wondering what went so wrong.
I'm going to die.
posted by Tara Callahan at 9:28 PM
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