The word “prepper” conjures mental images of paranoid survivalists LARPing as John Rambo, so I used to chafe when my dad jokingly called me one.* Yes, I stockpiled practical goods like pantry staples, toiletries, and pet supplies. But there wasn’t a Gadsden flag in my yard (the “Don’t tread on me” crowd, well-represented among preppers, overwhelmingly supports politicians and policies that tread on people like me) and I entertained no perverse fantasies of violently defending my Lucky Charms stores of cat litter or women’s razors against marauders following a quasi-apocalyptic event.
Just as I’d once cultivated a small collection of flashlights to compensate for my parents’ lack of them, my adult fascination with preparedness was partially motivated by a desire to ensure security and stability for myself and my partner in case of natural disaster or supply chain disruptions. More importantly at the time, it was about financial stewardship: stretching every dollar as far as it could go was essential to meeting our short- and long-term goals while living comfortably on a low income.
It became more difficult to do that once Crankenstein entered the picture. Now there were two incomes but considerably higher expenses and dizzying debt — and my old methods of storage and organization were no match for her absentmindedness. (It’s hard to rotate stock when your partner looks right past what’s directly in front of her and grabs from the back of a row instead, then has second thoughts and leaves it on another shelf. Or when she returns empty containers to the pantry and refrigerator.**) Later, as ‘Niles’ became more of a problem, it wasn’t unusual for her to reject without explanation entire reserves of products she previously requested.
As strange as this might sound to people who have no zeal for preparedness, the combination of ‘Niles’ and the arm problems that preceded my YOPD diagnosis proved quite demotivating. If Crankenstein and I were no longer a team — if she was going to remain secretive and seemingly indifferent to my efforts to keep the house running smoothly, which became harder as my quality of life radically worsened — there were better uses of my time than trying to anticipate her increasingly unpredictable needs. Our lives might become more precarious, or more expensive, if I planned less for the future, but what’s a little more uncertainty when the rug’s already been yanked out from under all your biggest plans?
Despite the glum outlook clouding my perspective, I was excited to learn post-election that Crankenstein wanted to address concerns about the challenges we might face over the next four years. We never woke up during the Obama or Biden administrations fearful they’d done something insane overnight that might obliterate our retirement savings or jeopardize our safety, as we frequently had with Trump — and that was before the insanity of January 6th, his worsening dementia, or the introduction of Elon Musk’s chaotic (and profoundly stupid) influence on his policies. Confident he’d mishandle future crises as catastrophically as he’d done the pandemic, we decided to channel some of our dread into action.
Weather events and energy grid vulnerabilities were high on our list of worries, particularly in the wake of the Texas power crisis and, more recently, Hurricane Helene horror stories. We’ll have a whole-house backup installed when we update our wiring, but for now we’re focused on interim measures like keeping the refrigerator running in extreme heat (one of my medications is temperature-sensitive). That’s why we recently bought EcoFlow ‘solar generators’ of varying capacities — they’re not exactly generators, but that’s how they’re marketed — for tasks like powering the fridge, microwave, and router.
We also purchased, or plan to purchase (January’s a good time for sales), a number of cordless power tools and accessories that share a battery ecosystem. Our shopping list, informed by a days-long power outage the summer before last, features items that will leave us better positioned to respond to storm damage and help neighbors if local or federal response is lacking. It includes an assortment of saws, a large fan and small shop vac, and a searchlight and portable floodlight. They’re things we would’ve already owned if not for the student loans, so we don’t consider them ‘panic buys’ and acquiring them won’t be a hardship.^
As we’ve planned for these and other contingencies (legal and financial), I’ve found a renewed sense of purpose in preparing for an uncertain future. I’m currently plotting a ‘get-home bag’ for Crankenstein in case she’s stranded at the office and has to walk home, and there’s egg powder in the pantry so we can bake even if bird flu outbreaks impact the prices and availability of eggs.^^ Or rather, there should be egg powder, unless she absentmindedly threw its empty bag back on the shelf.
* Dack Rambo was more my speed.
** This isn’t an attack on Crankenstein, who will cackle while regaling you with stories of things she’s lost or misplaced, but she rarely puts anything away. That’s why I’m continually befuddled by her habit of only returning boxes to the pantry once they’re empty.
^ Outdoor gear, another useful-in-emergencies category in which we’re deficient, didn’t make the cut beyond stocking stuffers. The reasoning is political, as you probably guessed: we prioritized electronics and power tools because they’re manufactured overseas and it’s unclear whether tariffs will become a reality. It should be easier to find outdoor gear that’s made domestically.
^^ My kooky QAnon aunt had a doomsday prepper phase while living with my grandma. For all her talk of “preps,” my cousin and I were confused when we saw her grocery stockpile, which consisted of a half-dozen boxes of Betty Crocker German chocolate cake mix and a Costco pack of canned Contadina tomato sauce. Did she plan to use the sauce as frosting? How would she bake during a power outage? Relieved she wasn’t hoarding ammo, we shrugged and continued cleaning out our grandmother’s basement.