A smarter man than I (of which many examples can be found on any streetcorner in Cancerland, not to mention the parking lots of smalltown Seven Elevens) would have understood at once why he was making such bizarre online purchases — a titanium pocket grappling hook, a “low-light” silicone watch band made for the European military, the world’s smallest candle lantern –but dense-as-dirt yours truly has just figured it out, even given the category under which such apparently uncategorizeable things fall. It is, as any google search reveals, ahem, Survival Gear.
Survival gear, fercrissake: The stuff paranoid crazies order up in hopes of weathering Armageddon. You know: dehydrated water (just add water), powdered beans, toiletpaper gloves.
Okay, yes, I am scheduled for some kind of low-level, personalized apocalypse, that much is true. And this has been (laughable! laughable!) the response of my subconscious mind, to lay in stores of shining metal escape and evasion stuff.
The tiny grappling hook is unbelievably beautiful: a bullet-shaped capsule of titanium into which three nasty-looking spikes screw. Then you attach paracord to this business (I have a fifty-foot hank of the stuff, in high visibility orange), and you are all set to swing it like a bolo up into the branches of some tree, so that — with the hook firmly snagged among the branches — you can pull yourself out of whatever jam you are in, up the tree, down the wall against which it is growing, and out to freedom. The low-visibility watch band will keep me from being seen by the Grim Reaper, where I am crouched down at the base of the tree, making ready to hurl the grappling hook.
Yessirree bob, I am prepared to get away no matter what. I almost feel sorry for the cancer that’s got me by the throat (literally) which hasn’t got a chance against the high-tech, NASA-grade, kevlar-coated, carbon-fiber oddments I have laid in.
Let it pin me however it wants. I have a micro-torch that makes cheese of armor-plating.