Not having anything better to do when our electricity abandoned us, I took to social media. My phone was powered alternately between my Prius and one of our camera’s portable flash batteries. Pretending I was transported back to Medieval times, the next 11 hours went something like this:
After 30 minutes:
Hey powerless people, here’s the outage map from DTE.
After 1 hour:
We’re battened down here, fending off looters with squirt guns and civil discourse.
After 2 hours:
Power’s still out. We’re smashing our chairs to make torches.
After 3 hours:
The neighborhood has reverted to a feudal society. By decree, I’m renamed Jebediah. Beard beginning to grow.
After 4 hours:
I’m sent far afield to forage. I find nuts, berries and Dunkin’ Donuts.
After 5 hours:
I go for a quick bath in the local mall’s indoor fountain. A pox upon you, screaming mall cop.
After 6 hours:
So when did it become “uncool” or “against the law” to borrow someone’s WiFi signal? Come on, dude, I rang the doorbell twice before climbing in your window.
After 7 hours:
A messenger arrives from The East bearing sustenance in 30 minutes or less. He’s not amused when I tip him with trinkets forged out of old hub cabs and Sprite cans by local artisans.
After 8 hours:
I find out the hard way it takes more than a couple hours for dandelion wine to ferment. Side Note For Next Time — those fluffy white seeds don’t add anything to the flavor.
After 9 hours:
I’m caught trying to siphon gas from a neighbor’s generator. A tribunal acquits me when they hear of my plan to invade Clawson, the village to the south. I’m named lead fusilier.
After 10 hours:
It’s quite outside. Too quiet. A few birds tweet. I wonder how many re-tweets they’ll get.
After 11 hours:
Power’s back. I quickly cancel my plans to defend our own village against a marauding band of soccer moms from Rochester Hills to the north.