I sometimes think about how long it would take society to crumble after a widespread power outage. Usually I think about it when the power goes out, which is why I’m thinking about it now. My imagination runs wild, but it’s also uninspired. I’m very creative as long as something creative is already staring me right in the face.
Right now my daughters’ flashlights are staring me right in the face. It hurts my eyes and for whatever reason I’m thinking about the end of the world (complimentary).
My best guess is we’re leaving cars on the road and raiding grocery stores within the first 5 days. I’d like to think it would take longer, but every person above 30 can’t even talk to me before they’ve had their coffee. Their mugs have told me so. Unless you’re fancy, pretentious, or both, your coffee maker requires power. Morning one is off to a bad start.
What about hour one?
That’s when everyone in the suburbs is on their phone posting to their neighborhood Facebook groups.
“Anyone else’s power out?” Followed by 34 comments of “mine is!”. How many comments were needed to confirm the power was out? Maybe society has already crumbled.
Hours two through six?
The kids are burning through the content you managed to get downloaded after the last power outage. None of it is their current favorite show, but any screen time is better than nothing. Your own devices? It’s going ok. No need to run out to the car to charge your phone yet, but your noise canceling headphones are running as low as your patience for how many times your children have asked if the power is back yet. It’s not back yet, we’re still in the dark and I THINK YOU KNOW THAT DORA.
Hours seven through fifteen?
Sleep. It’s a little sweaty if it’s summer. A little cold if it’s winter. But you sleep.
Hour sixteen…
Good morning. Please don’t talk to me until I’ve had some coffee. Let’s go out for breakfast. We can charge our devices in the car and have a nice hot meal out in the powered world. Hmm, that’s weird, the traffic lights are out too. Someone should have posted about this on Facebook.
We’ve hit 24 hours without power.
It’s out everywhere? Like ‘everywhere’ everywhere? You’ll say yes and your kids will ask again anyway. Someone starts crying and it might be you while the family eats dry cereal and plain tuna. You shouldn’t have put off that Costco run. Your wife’s idea to raise chickens sure doesn’t seem like a dumb idea now. Could’ve saved ourselves from hunger now and a pretty big argument back then.
At 48 hours…
You’ve been texting your friends, wondering if it’s time to fill the bathtub with water. A couple of your neighbors have generators, but they’re not the neighbors you like. Your boss asks if you’re going into the office. You very politely offer to take PTO instead of lying about working from home and more importantly to keep from cursing them out and screaming at the top of your lungs about how you’re on your 9th viewing of Encanto and can’t worry about Q4 right now.
You go for a walk. You read books. You open up the fridge and set up the weirdest buffet you’ve ever seen before the random assortment of leftovers and condiments all spoil. It’s kind of nice. Like an eccentric picnic. It’s also a lot of smelling things to make sure they’re ok. Some of it is not ok.
72 hours. Three days.
You should have filled your bathtub yesterday. Cell lines are down. Your Encanto download expired. And your neighbors with generators just ran out of fuel. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Not in your home of course, because your noise cancelling headphones are long dead now. You figure it’s time to venture out and see what you can see. On the way, you can count the number of car accidents on one hand, but it’s the full hand. Nobody remembers to treat stoplights without power as stop signs. They just go.
You notice there are cars at the grocery store which seems odd. There are people at the gas station but judging by the visible shrugging and talking with hands, there’s no way to get the gas.
Where were you going? Out of habit you end up at an abandoned Starbucks drive through before turning around to head home. The cars in the grocery store parking lot? Still there. Also there? Smashed glass sliding doors. You go home. But make a plan to venture back out without the kids whose legs might be a little too tired to successfully loot.
Day four?
You go to the speciality store instead of the big chain grocery store because you believe you're smarter than the general population. It’s locked up, but if you can just get the owners attention you can charm them and they’ll see you’re not a threat and offer to trade you some rice, pita bread, and maybe some treats for the kids.
It. Does. Not. Work. HE’S GOT A GUN.
“Please, I have kids. I just need a little food. I’ll do anything!”
The owner’s mother takes pity on you and convinces them to open the door. You can’t take any chances and stab them right in the stomach, knock the elderly mother on the ground, and grab as much food as you can carry in a shopping cart you stole from a nearby parking lot.
“I’m sorry!” you cry as you leave with your blood stained sustenance. Your innocence may never come back from this. It’s a long walk back to your house, and only a creaky shopping cart wheel breaks the silence.
Day Five?
Thank God the power is back on and I don’t have to think about what actually happens on day five. The kids have their tablets back online and I can finally make my wife and I our coffee. We’ll be different people once we have that. I might even apologize about the chickens thing.
“Dad, how long was the power out?”
“About 12 minutes” I respond.
“Felt longer” she says.
“You have no idea” I reply and wink to the camera, like I’m in a movie.
The camera pans over to the pantry as menacing music starts. A bag of rice comes into focus. A streak of red running down its side. Blood.
Fade to black.*
*Wow. Chills right?!