Monday, July 25, 2005
The Seven Stages of Last Night’s Power Outage
Stage One: Fear. (9 PM or so.) Realize it is very, very dark in your bathroom once the mirror lights have gone out and the glow from the water pik has been extinguished. Briefly worry that someone has cut the lights and it planning to knock you out from behind with a tire iron.
Stage Two: Heroism. (9:05) Rise to the occasion as the only person in your building with a working flashlight. Help other residents to find matches, candles, and their takeout orders of sushi. Perform reconnaissance mission to discover that, yup, the whole block’s power is out.
Stage Three: Camp. (9:30) Try to mine the fun from sitting in the hot darkness by telling ghost stories while holding the flashlight up under your chin. Realize that this is not fun. Make a bunch of jokes about churning butter, having a singalong around the piano, and other pre-electricity activities. Realize that Olden Times must have really sucked.
Stage Four: Resignation. (10:15) Call ComEd and listen to a jaunty recording assuring you power will be restored within the hour. Decide to go to bed. Push from your mind all thoughts of the 90-degree temperatures, the milk rapidly curdling in the fridge, and your half-washed laundry.
Stage Five: Rage. (3 AM) As temperatures reach E-Z-Bake Oven levels, wake from a fitful sleep (in which you dreamed you were throwing a party for Meryl Streep) to discover that power has still not been restored. After listening to irritatingly calm recording assuring you that you’ll have air conditioning again by 11 PM tomorrow, consider finding home addresses of ComEd executives to go cut their power. Draft angry letters in your head.
Stage Six: Panic. (3:15 AM) Lie on nearly every surface in the apartment in an attempt to find someplace cool enough to sleep. Nearly take post-it-note in the eye while crawling across desk. Contemplate going to sleep at the office before realizing that cabs and trains are not plentiful at this hour. Eventually pass out on the bedroom floor.
Stage Seven: Aftermath. (4:30 AM) As power is restored, heave a sigh of relief, then heave your largely lifeless body back onto the bed. Realize you have to get up in an hour and a half. Cry.
Stage One: Fear. (9 PM or so.) Realize it is very, very dark in your bathroom once the mirror lights have gone out and the glow from the water pik has been extinguished. Briefly worry that someone has cut the lights and it planning to knock you out from behind with a tire iron.
Stage Two: Heroism. (9:05) Rise to the occasion as the only person in your building with a working flashlight. Help other residents to find matches, candles, and their takeout orders of sushi. Perform reconnaissance mission to discover that, yup, the whole block’s power is out.
Stage Three: Camp. (9:30) Try to mine the fun from sitting in the hot darkness by telling ghost stories while holding the flashlight up under your chin. Realize that this is not fun. Make a bunch of jokes about churning butter, having a singalong around the piano, and other pre-electricity activities. Realize that Olden Times must have really sucked.
Stage Four: Resignation. (10:15) Call ComEd and listen to a jaunty recording assuring you power will be restored within the hour. Decide to go to bed. Push from your mind all thoughts of the 90-degree temperatures, the milk rapidly curdling in the fridge, and your half-washed laundry.
Stage Five: Rage. (3 AM) As temperatures reach E-Z-Bake Oven levels, wake from a fitful sleep (in which you dreamed you were throwing a party for Meryl Streep) to discover that power has still not been restored. After listening to irritatingly calm recording assuring you that you’ll have air conditioning again by 11 PM tomorrow, consider finding home addresses of ComEd executives to go cut their power. Draft angry letters in your head.
Stage Six: Panic. (3:15 AM) Lie on nearly every surface in the apartment in an attempt to find someplace cool enough to sleep. Nearly take post-it-note in the eye while crawling across desk. Contemplate going to sleep at the office before realizing that cabs and trains are not plentiful at this hour. Eventually pass out on the bedroom floor.
Stage Seven: Aftermath. (4:30 AM) As power is restored, heave a sigh of relief, then heave your largely lifeless body back onto the bed. Realize you have to get up in an hour and a half. Cry.
