So I have a friend
who is a survivalist – or maybe he’s a Latter Day Saint, I get confused.
At any rate, he’s like an apocalyptic boy scout – all about being
prepared. He talked to me about storing food, weapons, ammo,
medicine. Then he mentioned what would happen if an EMP exploded.
“EMP?”
“Electro-Magnetic
Pulse.”
Oh, I said slightly
relieved. I always considered EMP as an abbreviation for employees.
I had envisioned an EMP explosion resulting in my fellow workers at
Amalgamated Monster and I transformed into drippy bits on the wall.
All the machines
would stop, he told me. Then he showed me his watch. “See that?”
he said. “It’s a wind-up. Everybody else’s watch would stop,
but mine would keep working.”
The next day I’m
talking to Stanley McFarland. I’d forgotten all about the assault
weapons and dehydrated banana chips.
“I have to get a
wind-up watch,” I told him.
“Why?”
“In case an
employee, I mean EMP blows up.”
“You mean
Electro-Magnetic Pulse?”
“Yeah.”
“You know what an
EMP explosion usually means, don’t you?”
I nodded my head,
though I didn't have a clue.
“It means,” he
told me, “that a nuclear bomb is going off.”
The picture of
drippy bits on the wall returned. “I knew that,” I lied.
“Where’s a good place to get a wind-up watch?”
That night I had a
dream.
I was a wimpy
version of either Arnold Schwarzenegger or (a less anti-Semitic) Mel
Gibson in a post apocalyptic world. The survivors huddle around the
purple and green bonfire consuming unassembled Scandinavian
furniture. Each individual must present his or her merit in order to
join the new caveman tribe.
“I have a shotgun
and thirty rounds,” says a rotund woman. There are grunts of
approval from around the fire.
“I have the
Mountain Man Guide to Surviving Outdoors,” says a skinny guy with
reading glasses to more approving grunts.
“We have a case of
double-stuffed Oreo cookies that are hardly glowing at all!” says a
little girl with her bother in tow. The grunts are deafening.
Proudly, I hold up
my wrist. “I know what time it is!” I shout.
I experience a
disappointing lack of grunt volume.
“And I have a
pocket calendar. I’ll know the exact day and time to move back an
hour in the Fall and ahead in the Spring!”
They say you always
wake up before you die in a dream, so I’m not sure what the tribe
decided. I was tied to a spit and lying pretty close to the fire
before I woke up.
That might not be so
good.
I’m still getting
the watch. Digital watches just don’t tick with that reassuring,
analog conviction. And if I forget to wind it – I’ll just leave
it at a few seconds before midnight.
Ah the good old days - back again!
