It's the End of the World As We Know It

I went into fully panicked hurricane shopping at the supermarket today. I hadn't planned on it.

I was casually speaking to a coworker this afternoon -- a coworker, I might add, who normally has the demeanor of one of those forest fire firefighters (fire fire?) who jump into flames from a helicopter with an oxygen tank strapped to their back.

Said coworker said, "I'm a little nervous about this Hurricane Ike".

Mmm-hmm. I let that comment rumble about my brain for a bit, while I carried on with my day, picked up my kid, and decided to make a quick trip to the market for some milk and fruit. As I walked into the store, a TV near the customer service desk showed the governor of Florida saying something about an evacuation.

I let my face show no emotion. I slowly pushed my cart and my kid through the aisles, quietly picking up more groceries than I ever have in my life. Because in the back of my head, I know I have liquor, graham crackers, and cat food at my house, and I'm picturing myself banging on my neighbors' doors after the Apolcalypse, screaming "PLEASE! MY BABY IS HUNGRY!". Must. Be. A responsible. Parent.

On a side note, are the words "apocalypse" and "calypso" somehow related?

So there I am, trying to act casual, like Sean of the Dead walking amongst the zombies with my mouth hanging open and a dead look in my eye, because as soon as the other shoppers see me excitedly grabbing water and batteries, the whole store will go crazy, there's no bread left, and Jack's your uncle. Bob's your uncle? Someone's your uncle. I don't know. There's no bread.

I now have water. Batteries. (I don't know why I have batteries, I don't own a flashlight, and it's not like Comedy Central or A&E run on a 9-volt.) Canned fruit and vegetables. Tuna. Do you like tuna? Come over. I'm allergic to it. I don't know why I bought it. Again, the panic.

I get home. It takes me five trips from the car up the stairs into my condo. F-I-V-E. I painstakingly stack my groceries in my tiny suggestion of a pantry. If I use the space on top of the fridge, I can get it all in, and store all my bottled water. I stand back. I admire my work. I smack myself in the head.

If I ran a supermarket, I'd have the governor screaming about evacuations on a TV in the front of the store as well.

Stop by. We're having Vienna sausages and spaghetti-o's. For a really, really long time.