Dealing with Disappointment: When Your Bunker Mate Eats the Last Twinkie
#WastelandWednesday
Dealing with Disappointment: When Your Bunker Mate Eats the Last Twinkie
There are certain sounds that strike fear into the heart of any wasteland wanderer. The clicking of a Geiger counter. The howl of mutant wolves. The enraged shriek of someone discovering their secret Twinkie stash has been raided. That last one is why I'm currently barricaded inside a supply closet with Judy Dench, mediating between two bunker residents who haven't seen the sun in fifteen years.
"I WAS SAVING THAT TWINKIE FOR A SPECIAL OCCASION!" Sarah screams through the door. I can hear her banging what sounds like a spatula against the wall.
"WHAT OCCASION? THE END OF THE WORLD? BECAUSE THAT ALREADY HAPPENED!" That's Mike, who's apparently barricaded himself in the neighboring bathroom.
Judy Dench, who's somehow found the only clean corner in this closet to settle in, gives me her patented "humans are ridiculous" look. Easy for her to judge – she's never experienced the emotional attachment one develops to preserved snack cakes after the apocalypse.
In my previous life as a life coach, I once wrote an article titled "Processing Loss: When Your Favorite Coffee Shop Closes." I'm starting to think I may have understated the concept of loss a bit.
"Okay, everyone," I call out through the door, using my 'we're all adults here' voice, "let's practice those emotional regulation techniques we discussed. Sarah, would you like to express your feelings using 'I' statements?"
"I statement? Fine. I am going to MURDER Mike in his sleep!"
"That's... not quite what I meant. Mike, would you like to share your perspective?"
"I was stuck on maintenance duty for 36 hours straight! Do you know what it's like trying to fix a water purifier while your blood sugar is crashing? That Twinkie was practically medical supplies!"
This is what we in the coaching business call a "teachable moment."
"Let's look at the bigger picture," I suggest. "Sarah, why was this particular Twinkie so important?"
There's a pause, followed by a sniffle. "It was the last one from Before. My dad gave it to me the day we entered the bunker. He said to save it for when things got better..."
Ah. Now we're getting somewhere.
"And Mike, why did you need it so badly?"
"I... the purifier repairs reminded me of working with my sister. She was a plumber, you know? Before. We used to share Twinkies on tough jobs..."
This is no longer about a snack cake. This is about loss, memory, and the weight of preserved desserts as emotional anchors in a world that's lost its sweetness. Also, possibly about blood sugar, but mostly the emotional stuff.
Two hours, one group coaching session, and an impromptu lesson on "Attachment Theory in the Age of Limited Snack Cakes" later, we reach a breakthrough. Sarah and Mike agree to start a bunker-wide support group for processing pre-war losses. They also decide to begin experimenting with post-war dessert recipes, though I strongly advise against using radioactive sugar substitutes.
As we prepare to leave the bunker, Sarah presents me with a carefully wrapped package – a perfectly preserved Ding Dong she's been saving. "For your next crisis," she says with a wink.
I'm touched, though Judy Dench's expression clearly says "Don't even think about eating that ancient garbage." She's right, of course. Some things are better left as symbols than snacks.
Remember: In the wasteland, every preserved snack cake is a time capsule of emotions. Handle with care, and maybe stock up on sugar-free alternatives.
Post-Script: Judy Dench would like me to note that she has never eaten a Twinkie and never will, thank you very much. She has standards, even after the apocalypse.
Next Chapter: "Embracing Change: From Corner Office to Cave Dwelling"
