10) Panic. You wanted to buy water? Well, too bad. By the time you made it to the store to buy water, all the water was gone and there was only one Highlander left, standing over a pile of prone forms that he had bludgeoned into submission with a container of yogurt. In wealthier areas of town, there were runs on seltzer and Perrier, and several butlers were injured in the stampede.
9) Hoard. Skip work. Nestle in securest room of house with a lantern and radio. Think soothing thoughts about Cory Booker. Notice that behaviors which in the ordinary course of life would be fodder for A&E intervention-urging reality shows are actually adaptive in this case.
8) With your companions, agree on most rational method for deciding whom to eat first. Suggestions include: height, quality of diet (“Who here is grass-fed?”), irrational preference for Star Wars prequels over original trilogy.
7) Discover, to your horror, that the only books in your weather bunker are Moby Dick and a copy of “101 Things To Do Before You Die.” Start the latter. Worry that you’ve never had Christmas on the beach.
6) Field several calls from your grandmother, for whom The Weather Channel is the only form of continuous fiction. Reassure her that you are locked in a secure area surrounded by canned goods and flares. Politely rebuff her suggestion that she send over a nice young man to unscrew the tops of your jars.
10) Realize that everything you were counting on for entertainment needs to be plugged in.
9) Do they still make batteries?
8) Hone your survival skills. Generally for you, “foraging” means “discovering bacon in the back of the fridge, hiding behind the mayonnaise.” Try to remember things you saw in documentaries. Sharpen several stakes to spear-hunt trout. Get splinter. Stop. Decide to attract trout with force of personality alone.
7) Telephone people you haven’t talked to in too long to say you love them, or, in Scandinavian families, to remind them that Daylight Savings Time is coming up soon and they should set their clocks accordingly.
6) Dial through the phone book telling people that “There’s a storm coming, Mr. Wayne” until this ceases to be amusing.
5) Remember that in D.C., Massive Weather Events usually turn out to be Days When The Federal Government Shuts Down To Watch A Gentle Rain. Hope that this will still be the case.
4) Realize with some alarm that you haven’t actually interacted with your friends anywhere but the Internet in the past three years.
93) In a panic, forget how to open cans. Or number lists.
3) Discover batteries in the old
Y2K Mayan Apocalypse Rapture bunker. Man, Y2K. Those were the days.
2) Start reading Moby Dick.
1) Stop reading Moby Dick.
0) Be safe. This is a vague and unhelpful piece of well-wishing caution that everyone keeps offering, but seriously, be safe. Stay attuned to the weather advisory.
More inspirational, heartwarming things you could be doing instead.
A cardboard cutout of Mitt Romney riding out the hurricane.
Live tweets from what I hope will be the boring part of the storm.