For my lazy media entertainment I’ve been watching a cornball reality series on Netflix. It aired back in 2008 and it’s called The Colony. A “reality” show posed as an experiment where they put 8 people together from different backgrounds in a compound after a global disaster apocalypse and see how they get along and thrive…or not.
I always have to laugh at myself when watching or reading post-apocalyptic media. As much as I hate the kitchen, I suspect that I would probably end up on KP duty, first aid and laundry if the stuff hit the fan. I’m not going to be much good on the protection detail, hauling water or butchering a hog. I seriously doubt that I would be able to cobble together abandoned car engine parts to make a generator either.
One of the women on the first season really cracked me up. Of course I know this is all staged and directed, but I had to wonder just the same. She found a bolt of red satin, which just happened to be lying around in the abandoned warehouse/machine shop they were holed up in….yeah right. She fashioned the satin into a sort of sarong dress that tied at the neck and wore it and a pair of high heels. She also put on makeup every morning. Was this an attempt to hang on to some sense of stability in the face of an apocalypse? Or did the directors want to portray her as the blonde air head of the bunch? Who knows? She was an ER nurse so there had to be a bit of brains in there somewhere. But the ER is a place where you patch people up and send them along elsewhere for further treatment. Wonder what would happen when the buck stopped at her. There is no place to send an injured person for further care in this situation.
These survivors show up in the warehouse after being kept awake for 30 hours to simulate the shock and exhaustion one would experience in the face of a global catastrophe. The warehouse had a 3 day supply of food and little else. Everything else they had to arrange for themselves with what they could salvage from the compound. Food and water, fire, shelter, shelter and security they all had to provide from materials at hand.
The participants had a sit down talk every night at a communal dinner. It was interesting to see which of the basics they thought the most important priority was. They all pretty much agreed that drinking water was the most important and organized an expedition to a nearby heavily polluted inner city river. They then devised a filtration system using layers of charcoal and sand in an oil drum, then boiled the water as a last step. For the fire they used pallets found in the yard and broke them up for firewood.
After the water was taken care of the people who wanted to build a shower won out over those who wanted to focus on security first. So the easily breached areas of the compound were left while they built the shower. Of course the producers of the show arranged for a break in from marauders who trashed their fire pit and stole 2 days’ worth of food. So now they are all freshly showered but out of food. Well, duh! I think I would have been one of those who was more concerned about security than getting a shower, but that’s just me.
I found the show interesting because I have a fascination with post-apocalyptic scenarios. I’ve lived through a few myself in real life. The worse was the time I lived in Guam and we got hit by Super Typhoon Paka. The island got slammed head on leaving us without running water and electricity for 2 months. You really find out what you’re made up in a situation like that. I managed to get through it, but I had no choice. I left the island for good not long after that.
On this journey to reinvent a me that I can live with, I’ve decided to take baby steps. Or maybe treat myself like someone with a catastrophic brain injury who has to learn how to do everything over again. Could I just reformat my brain? Nah, that would wipe out the good along with the not useful knowledge.
This fresh brain theory is as much of a gift as finding yourself suddenly without possessions. This may sound horrible, but hear me out. I’ve ended up with little more than the clothes on my back 4 times in my life. Once was from a natural disaster (flood).
Another time was when I made the mistake of living at what turned out to be a “crime scene.” I came home one day and the police had been there and emptied out my entire apartment. They must have hired some really good movers because there weren’t even scraps of paper left on the floor.
The lowdown on this particular fiasco was – the guy I was dating at the tender age of 18 was a crook. What did I know? Up until that time all the movies I watched were Disney movies. Never saw a movie called “This is What Happens When Unbeknownst to You, Your Boyfriend Turns Out to be a Thief – Surprise.” That’s a long story for another day. I was classified by the powers that be as collateral damage, even though I was exonerated from any knowledge or participation in said nefarious activities. A few months later I went to the property lock up place and they handed over a box with a toothbrush, a couple of paper backs and a pair of jeans. This was all I got back from an entire furnished apartment.
The 3rd possession wipe out happened when I realized that husband #1 was plotting to declare me crazy and commit me to an institution of higher insanity. (We’d been having serious marital discord leading up to this revelation – it wasn’t a shot out of the blue) That’s what his father did to his mother when she didn’t “behave,” so there ya go. I left right in the middle of dinner. My fork was probably still suspended in mid-air when I put peddle to the metal and got the hell out of dodge.
He changed the locks the very next day. I guess he knew that I was lying when I said I was going out for a pack of smokes. My daughter helped me this time. She said “mom, I was always losing my keys. How do you think I got back in the house?” She jimmied a window open and we went in like a ninja stealth team and grabbed anything handy that belonged to me, stuffed it in trash bags and were out in 15 minutes. Breaking in your house and stealing your own stuff is how you experience exhilaration and humiliation in the same day. I don’t recommend it.
The 4th drastic possession reduction happened when I moved back to the mainland from 8 years in Guam. This time it was a planned wipe out because I couldn’t afford to ship all my junk back to the states. I packed a backpack and a suitcase and left my apartment and all the junk collected in 8 years behind. It felt good, really good.
Hmmm, an idea has occurred to me. Am I doing this all backwards? Maybe I should just pack up like I was going on an extended trip and donate the rest the stuff to charity? That might make Mr. Husband a little nervous. But I’m not leaving…forever. Just want to travel, my love. If you think that I would leave you after 10 years of thick and thin, better and worse, love and hate, then you don’t know me at all! Oh no, I love you and yer not getting rid of me that easy.
So anyway, on day 1, I got a 3rd of the way through my massive book collection. Mr. Husband was so gracious about it that I was flabbergasted. He used his manly man muscles, picked up the heavy boxes of books, put them in his truck and dropped them off at the good will collection center. I only asked him once. This is a sign I’m moving in the right direction. It felt so good that I coasted for a day.
And now back to day 2, which did not occur immediately after day 1, but so what? My purchase criteria for clothes used to be “will I be embarrassed to wear that to work?” That’s not valid anymore, but the majority of my clothing is business casual = booooring. So why do I have them now? Am I planning on going back to corporate life? That would be a resounding NO. I paid a lot of money for them, that’s why. Well that money is gone, sunk costs. Ah, deep breaths. Let it go.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs and the time came for them to leave home and seek their fortunes. Before they left, their mother told them ” Whatever you do, do it the best that you can because that’s the way to get along in the world. The first little pig built his house out of straw because it was the easiest thing to do. The second little pig built his house out of sticks. This was a little bit stronger than a straw house. The third little pig built his house out of bricks.
Natural disasters are inevitable. How we are prepared for them and deal with the aftermath is a different story.
So what does happen if the three little pigs live on Guam? They should build their house out of concrete cinder blocks with lots and lots of re-bar in it. They better not build their house out of sticks or straw, that’s for sure. Super Typhoon Paka slammed into the island on the afternoon of December 16th, 1997. The 5,000 people left homeless will not forget that any time soon.
About 130,000 people weathered this storm. I was one of them. Didn’t watch much TV back then, so I was blissfully unaware that we were in the cross hairs. I figured it out at the grocery store. There were plenty of clues. The Spam, Pop Tart, charcoal, and bottled water shelves were empty. The lines at the cash register were out the door. Outside guys were pushing and shoving at the ice fridge. The usual chaos.
Guam is subject to typhoons and earthquakes. Those who do not like to suffer unnecessarily stayed prepared at all times. It was just part of life on a tropical island only 14° from the equator. As soon as you finished a jug of water you refilled it and stuck on top the kitchen cabinets, in closets and where ever else you could fit it. Five gallon paint buckets were keepers too. Anything to store water in was a good thing. The potty won’t flush without it. I always kept boxes of candles, matches, lighters, non perishable food, Sterno, batteries, a camp stove, refill butane cans by the case, charcoal, mosquito spray, assorted medicines, first aid kit, and of course booze stashed away for a bumpy day.
It’s scary to be a sitting duck on an island watching a typhoon approaching via radar. There really is nowhere to run. By the time the weather service figures out it’s gonna be bad, it’s too late to evacuate. Even if they could put 130k people on a plane. About 3 hours before the storm hits everyone finishes boarding up and then you hunker down in your house. It’s all dark, stuffy, and creepy being in a boarded up apartment. I watched TV, listened to the radio, fed my fish, drank some wine and fell asleep for a while.
When I woke up the party had started. The winds were howling. It was early evening and I still had electricity. The phone was still working so everyone on the island was in a frenzy of phone calls back and forth. About 8:00 pm the lights went out and then it got real. No sounds of gadgets to mask the roar from outside.
My girlfriend called me and said her sliding glass door blew in so she was in her bedroom closet with a box of wine and cheese and crackers. She made a pallet out of clothes and was reasonable comfortable but pretty shaken up. Then another friend called from her mobile that was still miraculously working. Some of the cell towers were still up at the point. She had an attack of temporary insanity and had gone out on the balcony between squalls to look at the storm. The door locked behind her. So she was now cowering in the corner with a laundry basket over her head. Wind & rain off the ocean blowing at typhoon speed feels like you are being shot with salted needles. I managed to get through to her brother before the phones died. I said a prayer for her that she made it through alive and with a little more common sense. I stayed in my bedroom the whole time in the corner where there were not windows. Outside my room the apartment backed up against the side of a hill so I felt safe.
As the night wore on the radio stations crapped out one by one. Finally there was only one left. A sort of county western gospel mix. If I ever hear “Just a Closer Walk With Thee”again it will be too soon. The radio guy said it looked like the eye was going to pass over the Northern tip of the island. Which is where I was. That’s when I started getting really scared. The last wind gust number I heard was 227 mph and it wasn’t even there yet. The eye passed just close enough to feel the wind die down. I went out on the balcony, making sure that I didn’t get locked out, and looked around. All the palm trees and bushes were completely stripped of leaves. There was so much salt in the air that it seemed foggy. Down the hillside it looked like endless miles of telephone poles. Debris everywhere. I didn’t stay long because I didn’t want to get caught up when the eye passed. The winds come back really fast. Finally enough wine and some Benadryl made me groggy enough to get some sleep.
In the morning it was completely clear, blue sky, gentle breezes. But the island was a disaster. Everywhere you looked there were powers line down. It looked like the whole place was covered in black spaghetti. No running water, no power, nothing but rustles and banging as people started picking up the pieces.
It took several weeks to get running water again. We bathed in swimming pools and cooked a lot of barbecue. Took caravans of pick up trucks down to the beach to fill buckets with sea water so we could flush toilets. The electricity in my area didn’t come back for 6 weeks. Six weeks of broiling muggy heat and mosquitoes. For some reason houses in Guam don’t have screens. We washed our clothes by hand and read by candle light. We played cards, drank warm beer, and pretended we didn’t smell like goats. The officials claim that births on the island always spike about 9 months after a bad typhoon. Gee, I wonder why.
After this typhoon, I decided that I had all the fun I could have on that island and it was time to get the hell out of there. Started making my plans and several months later, I took one last look out the plane window as we flew away. I had some good times there and met a lot of good people, but I don’t miss it all.