The end was nearing and I couldn’t prevent it. If the zombie apocalypse were to happen at this point in time, I would be one of the first to go.
My pantry of food, that I’m supposed to always have stocked to ensure several weeks of living when the inevitable happens, was running dangerously low.
Sure, I could go buy more food, but the stores seem to want money, even if you are simply trying to prepare for the future.
I was about to start making a ketchup sandwich for what was bound to be my last lunch, when I noticed a giant package on the table. It was for me and it was from my grandmother. This was my savior. This was my lifeline.
Never in my life had I been so excited to see ramen noodles, peanut butter and Pop-Tarts. Not only did I have the typical poor college kid foods, but she sent me actual meals to make. I was ready to chow down on the popular Tuna Helper, the ingredients to make a green bean casserole, cereal and mashed potatoes.
When I lived in the dorms I took care packages for granted. I mean, sure it was good if I needed extra Easy Mac or wanted to spend my meal swipes on more soda than necessary. However, other than that, I really didn’t mind if I got a care package or not. But now, I might make it a requirement for anyone who plans on visiting me for Halloween to bring me food.
Phase two of making it in the post-apocalyptic life depends on the people I will meet on my journey and whether they’re worth joining my crew. I wanted to try another easy Internet snack and decided on cheesy bacon potato crisps. I sliced the potatoes into circles and threw them in a pot to boil. I sprayed a baking sheet with cooking spray and put the potatoes on it. After that I added some sprinkled cheese and bacon and threw them in the oven for twelve minutes.
After pulling them out of the oven, other people started to notice the heavenly smell. My roommate asked if she could have some and after deeming her acceptable to join my zombie survival brigade I gave her permission to have one. Yes, only one, as I would need to make sure I could survive first before giving her all of my resources.
A few of her friends came over and when I wasn’t looking they found my delicious snack. They asked my roommate if they could have some and my roommate denied them access. She did not allow anyone to feast on our only hopes for survival. My roommate was now worthy. I would not be tripping her and feeding her to the zombies that were chasing us, even if my life depended on it, all because she was ruthless enough to save my precious potato crisps.
The final stage of apocalyptic survival I endured this weekend was to remember: stick to what you know. There’s no use in trying to learn to be Katniss Everdeen and shoot the zombie down if you can just as easily drive over it and successfully kill it with your giant truck.
A friend of mine made an egg casserole that was absolutely heavenly. I figured, I watched him make it — surely it would be easy enough to recreate. I mixed five eggs, milk, bacon, cheese and bread into a pan and baked it for about fifteen minutes.
It looked just like his, it smelled just like his, but it did not taste just like his. It ended up making me sick and I just threw the rest of it away. I have no idea what I did wrong, but I do know that pancakes would have sufficed just as well for breakfast that morning.
As for my survival of this apocalypse with my mediocre cooking skills, only time will tell.
Mesha Baylis is a senior studying journalism at Ohio University. Will she survive post-apocalypse? Email her at mb345109@ohiou.edu.
