2.8 Days Later–Entry 3.3, The Final Chapter

er protect myself with the functional yet stylish North Face vest, and I hitched up my 300 HP German wagon to head into the hinterlands of Stroudsburg PA in search of the other nectar of life: high octane gas. For fear of encountering the uncivilized natives of beyond, I first rendezvoused with my fellow warrior DiCostanzo to make the voyage as a caravan. Upon arrival in the hinterlands, we were told that in fact there was no high octane, and further agony upon that, the regular stuff was cash only. We made the strategic decision to venture onward. However, because of a moment’s delay, a restless native did challenge me with, “Get your gas and get the f–k out of here.” I pulled my German wagon aside to block the progress of his cheap American made wagon, and I invited him to step forth and solve his problem like a man. Upon witnessing that I had gone all Jersey-Zombie-Mafioso on him, and seeing my true Italian American comrade DiCostanzo, the native backed down. In that moment, I realized the direness of our situation; and it was not that my wagon might suffer knocks and pings, it was that I was devolving from a proper WASPy, yuppie of the Hills into a mere animal, into a being that was willing to fight for his right to enjoy meaningless things.

Further in the great beyond, we were able to obtain that golden high octane nectar, and a fellow refugee voyager, unaccustomed to pumping his own fuel, even sought my help at turning on his pump–God bless my Southern upbringing.

Upon my return to the Hills, I turned myself to the real work of blowing leaves and ensuring that my exterior lighting was well-placed in the event our apocalypse might be averted. For a momentary diversion, I laced up my new Salomons for a trail run over South Mountain. As I was mixing my recovery drink, like the diaphanous light from the heavens, like the quick chirp of the click beetle, like the hum of most unnatural stainless steel appliances returning to life, power was restored.

In that moment, as the beer fridge came online, as the LED displays flashed “Set Clock,” I gave thanks. And I sang Hallelujah: Hallelujah for amp-burning plasma; Hallelujah for filament burning incandescents; Hallelujah for consumerism; for capitalism; for isms I have not yet considered but somehow wish so vilely to indulge in at this very moment.

In what began as a swift return to cold and darkness, I did confront my true nature. And it is a soft nature, a nature that must be coddled by convenience, a nature that must be wrapped with time-saving devices; it is a nature which has lost its way and now rejoins its sojourn down the path of doldrums, the path of the usual and the oblivious where what we truly want, what we truly desire is, simply, a Keurig with autostart.