By
Lisabet Sarai
A
few weeks ago, on a Wednesday, there was a notice posted in the
elevator of our apartment building. The metropolitan electricity
authority had scheduled some major upgrades for our neighborhood, so
on the following Sunday, electricity would be cut from 8 AM to
approximately 2 PM.
My
husband and I looked at each other, aghast. What would we do? Where
would we go? How would we manage to live for six hours without power?
Our
concern wasn’t completely irrational. I try to devote Sundays to my
writing. He typically works on a variety of projects outside of his
job responsibilities, most of which involve the computer. Plus we
live in the tropics, where, especially in the hot season, being stuck
in a place without air conditioning or fans is uncomfortable
bordering on dangerous.
Still,
what strikes me, looking back, is our extreme consternation. We
weren’t exactly panicked, but our planning engines immediately went
into high gear as we tried to figure out a strategy for dealing with
this looming problem.
How
widespread would the problem be? How reliable were the times
(previous experience suggested not very...)? If we didn’t leave the
apartment until Sunday morning, would we have electricity for the
espresso maker and our showers?
I
also started worrying about the food I had in the freezer. I altered
my meal plans for the next few days to make sure I could use up the
pork chops and the smoked salmon before they could spoil.
What
files would we need to take with us? What applications needed to be
installed on our laptops? Could we get by without our chargers? Or
the USB DVD reader? Did I need my portable mouse?
Eventually,
we decided to spend Saturday night in a hotel in another part of the
city. We chose a place we knew would have a desk in the room and made
sure it had wifi. We requested a late check-out, so we could devote
the maximum amount of time to working. The best the hotel could do
was 1 PM. At that point, we left our overnight bags at the hotel desk
and set out on a quest for a likely coffee shop, hauling our
computers with us. We didn’t want to head back to our neighborhood
too early. What would we do if the electricity was still out? Sit
around in the lobby and sweat?
Modern
urban life depends on electricity, no question. Our reactions
though... you might have thought we were facing an outage of days
rather than hours. There’s no question we’re addicted to power.
It
wasn’t always like this. When I was younger, I remember quite
clearly that power cuts due to storms sometimes had a holiday
quality. (Not the ones in the dead of the New England winter, of
course...!) Bring out the candles and the flashlights. See if we can
make dinner on the emergency Sterno stove, or the hibachi. Open a
bottle of wine and celebrate an excuse not to work.
I’ll
never forget when Hurricane Donna hit Massachusetts in 1960, causing
a major blackout. My mom was so calm. She gathered my siblings and me
around the candle-lit kitchen table and taught us to play bridge.
It
was like camping, something I did a fair amount of in my youth. Back
then I loved getting away from civilization, roughing it. I recall
with some affection one summer at the Girl Scout camp where we stayed
in big tents, with no electricity. I didn’t miss it at all.
Now,
though, the notion of being without power (and without the Internet)
scares the heck out of me. All I can think of is the email
accumulating, the blog posts needing to be written, the adoring
letters from fans that I can’t access... (Okay, I made the last one
up.) I haven’t been camping in about twenty years. I wonder if I
could stand the isolation.
Of
course, I’m not alone in this addiction. In the Asian city where I
live, everyone carries not just his or her cell phone, but also a
portable power bank, just in case the phone battery runs out. (I
haven’t sunk that low yet, mostly because I don’t use my phone
that much.) Cafes and restaurants feature power outlets next to each
table. I attend quite a few technical conferences and trade shows.
These days every one provides stations where you can lock up your
device in a little cubicle while you top up its charge.
I
remind myself that millions of humans on the planet live without
electricity and for the most part, survive without too much
difficulty. Presumably I could do so too, if necessary. My clear
addiction makes me quite uncomfortable. I’ve always liked to
believe I am a flexible, adaptable sort of person, the kind of
individual who can be creative in handling the unexpected. My frantic
unease when facing last month’s power cut makes me question that
belief, though.
Maybe
what I need is a long vacation in some rural location off the grid.
Going cold turkey, so to speak.
But
I have so much work to do on the Internet, I really don’t have the
time.
