Water, Water Everywhere and Not a Drop to Drink

It’s funny how the prediction of doom brings people together.

Scott and I sat at a table at Doyle’s for about 5 minutes before the conversation started. The people next to us had looked at a house on the water that they liked enough to buy, but were afraid would not be there after the weekend. Scott’s boat was afloat and tethered to a floating dock, but if the floating dock floated away or the torrents of water exceeded the life of the batteries backing up the bilge pumps, we’d be saying goodbye to weekends on the water. The waitress was a little nervous about what might be happening at home while she served food and drink to people who would rather watch the game than watch the water rise at home.

Soon after dinner plates had been cleared and a last round of cocktails had been ordered, Scott’s daughters appeared at the window of the restaurant having been evacuated from the barrier island where they were working for the summer. Presumably, no one would be on the island to go for a spin on the Bumper Cars. Scott’s sister had boarded the house and fled as well, taking with her the elderly tenant from the first floor apartment and all the memorabilia her car could hold. The girls were looking for a grocery shopping list and volunteering to shop for us. In the spirit of the night, we all headed out together for Apocalypse Shopping.

Acme was reminiscent of the Tickle-Me-Elmo frenzy from a few years ago. Panic. Chaos. Madness. Rock-Paper-Scissors to get the last cart. Debate over who needs the last gallon of bottled of water more. Bribes offered for the last dozen eggs. Insults slung after being beaten to the punch in the bread aisle.

I am not sure about you, but I could survive for weeks, literally weeks, on what is in my house on a given day, with or without the benefit of refrigeration or the ability to cook. Weeks. I am not suggesting we’d all be happy with the menu, but we’d sustain life without difficulty. Even the cat.

But that got me thinking. With all the running around I’d done this week, I’d blown off grocery shopping myself. I had no milk for coffee. No bread for sandwiches. No frozen pizza the kids could make for themselves. And thus would have to join the cast of thousands on Friday evening after having retrieved the kids from Lars’ house.

Yippee. Another trip to the bowels of Hell itself.