I planned for just about everything

I planned for just about everything.

May 30, 2024

I planned for just about everything.

Just about.

On March 18, of last year, I purchased an old nuclear missile silo in North Dakota. Obviously no longer armed (I sent an email to the nearest Russian and Chinese embassies informing them of this), I began renovations. Using my life savings, I outfitted my Omega Bunker for 24 people to live comfortably for 15 years. Yes, I have a near infinite supply of beef jerky, Raman, Gatorade, and Chef Boyardee products. Include a warehouse of clothing, bedding, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, and other sundry items, and I was ready.

All I required was a Zombie Apocalypse, Nuclear Armageddon, or a bad case of anxiety and I would be calling the shots for decades.

Time to think about some roomies.

I don’t want to think about the genetic repercussions of a few people on Gilligan's Island expecting to breed sustainable generations of survivors. Or the drama of living in close proximity to the last man on Earth for the rest of your life. What if he understands the law of supply and demand? Will I have to settle?

I feel like the last female unicorn encountering the ugliest, shortest, mangy male unicorn suddenly inspired to be encountered.

No wonder they are extinct.

Back to the roomies. I want to send up a trial balloon and advertised my locale as an experimental BnB for a week of isolation to see who does show up. I will set the price fairly low (a loss leader) and see what happens.

So I make my inquiries and advertise on a selected group of social media accounts. I explain my plan, the duration, and advantages, and the disadvantages of a short stay at the Bunk and beer. If the selected participants could remain in character during our faux end-of-the-world disaster, all the better.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Two couples (are they couples?) Richard and Samantha (goes by Sam in the email) and Robert and Pat all would care to indulge me for the 168 hour shakedown cruise. They all agree to the house rules of not leaving and behaving appropriately considering the circumstances. I am giddy just thinking about the possibilities.

They will arrive on Thursday morning (tomorrow) with no luggage in hand. Thus, they will come as refugees, testing my prep skills to see if I am indeed suitable for this field of endeavor.

After sunrise, I waited on the deck, in the middle of a fallow field, coffee in hand as the SUV drew closer. Ever the hostess, I practiced my opening lines against Grammarly for accuracy and authenticity. When the door opened, out came Richard and Sam and Robert and Pat. All four males, all dashing in appearance, and all openly gay. They were psyched to begin the experiment. I was suddenly sullen on multiple levels. I had anticipated more. Possibly an discreet rendezvous or illicit affair. Maybe more, but not less. Definitely not this less.

I was the last to enter my bunker, closing the door, as if I would upon hearing about the fall of civilization and humanity from its apex position. It might just have well been.

Somewhere, an ugly male unicorn is laughing at me.