Why I’m Already Doomsday Prepping For the ‘Summer of Suck’
Worst-case scenario: My cats eat my face after I die of starvation.
Elizabeth Brockway/The Daily Beast
Six rolls of toilet paper and 24 packs of ramen noodles stashed behind an old computer monitor deep in the closet of my home office.
This is my strategy for surviving the summer of suck.
It’s not a good plan. But it’s a plan. And it feels like I’m being at least mildly proactive without actually hoarding.
Because I’m expecting the worst. Which is to say empty store shelves, high prices and limited income—a perfect storm of tariffs, stagflation and being 46 years old with a liberal arts degree.
My partner, Carolina, doesn’t know about my secret stash. Well, I guess now she does. But my thinking was that I could hide the Charmin Ultra Strong and Maruchan, continue to live like it doesn’t exist and then, if (when?) everything goes to hell, I’d suddenly remember that we could still at least use the toilet.
Like I said. It’s not a good plan. But I’m just trying to be a decent provider and protector. And a thoughtful one, too. Carolina is vegetarian, so I bought soy ramen.
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At the height of America’s latest self-inflicted Armageddon I figure all this should last us at least a month. Maybe. I can’t promise I won’t barter away the toilet paper for Sour Patch Kids.
A sign on an empty shelf at a Southern California grocery store details efforts to limit purchases of toilet paper and other essential products during the Covid-19 pandemic.
Diana Haronis/Getty Images
Speaking of kids, I have to confess that my half-assed prepping doesn’t (yet) account for three useless, whiny dependents. I’m talking about our needy and emotionally manipulative cats.
So yes, I guess I also need to start planning for their wellbeing. I’m sure they would do the same for me. Except that they absolutely wouldn’t.
Nevertheless, I’m taking the moral high road—which should be registered as an act of extreme compassion. Not weakness. I will (somewhat reluctantly) add a bag of emergency kibble to that survival stash. But definitely no special treats.
If I can’t even have chicken-flavored ramen while the world burns, they can get by without the squeezy tuna purée.
Sure, I guess this all depends on how bad it actually gets. But I fear the storm is coming. Thanks to widely reported supply chain issues, inflation spikes and mass layoffs, we could be entering a genuine world of hurt in the coming months. Throw in some natural disasters here and there to disrupt agriculture, and we’ve got ourselves a proper Woody Guthrie song.
It won’t be like living through the Dust Bowl. But this summer still has plenty of potential to suck.
I sleep well, though, because, so far, my prepping isn’t excessive or detrimental to society. I’m just being reasonably cautious—like packing three extra pairs of underwear for an overnight trip. The carry-on suitcase still fits in the overhead compartment, after all, and nobody is the wiser.
That’s basically the extent of it all. Harmless and hopefully unnecessary.
I just sometimes wonder if it’ll be enough to sustain us. Otherwise, bartering might become a way of life. Which is why I’ve also begun searching my house for things we can trade during the later stages of our impending Hunger Games.
Currently, it appears we only have an overabundance of Peruvian hot sauce.
We’re screwed.
OK, we do also have a decent amount of coffee. But let’s not kid ourselves. The coffee is last to go, behind even my kidneys.
Of course, the real end-of-days scenario is if desperation becomes hyper-localized and communities start turning on each other. But that’s when my years-long, strategically formed alliances will finally come to fruit.
You see, I’ve already forged solid inroads with a few of our neighbors. (Specifically, the ones who make homemade sushi and the ones who have lots of Kentucky bourbon.) With a little luck and friendship, this alliance might just pull us through. Even if I wind up whiskey drunk in a gutter, covered in bits of eel.
Best case scenario: When I look back on my not-so-grand survival plan it probably won’t amount to much more than a weird memory of unfounded dread inspired by internet fearmongering.
Worst case: The cats eat my face after I die of starvation.
There’s probably a better way to handle this anxiety, but this is my plan. It’s giving me just enough hope as I tether my sinking ship to even the weakest mooring line of control in a world where things no longer seem to make sense and the waters are choppy.
Because it’s good to believe in something. And I believe that this will get me through the summer of suck.
Hell, I might even buy the cats some squeezy tuna purée after all.
I wonder how it goes with soy ramen.
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