GRILLING FOR THE CAMERA

On the Monday after the Great Merrimack Valley Gas Disaster of 2018, my daughter and her friends, who live a half mile away, invite me over for a barbecue.  They buy me steak from a butcher in another town that still has power and is open.  I feel a bit like an asshole because I have no food to contribute, and the grocery store, like every other business for miles and miles, remains closed.

I head over anyway, and we settle in to an impromptu grilling session along with some music and some wine, our local version of what we call Redneck Grillin'. Just as the cooking is getting underway, a news truck rolls by, pulls over several yards away, and parks.  "Watch this," I say, "they're going to come over and want us to be on camera."

Sure enough, two minutes later, over comes the very nice and lovely reporter from Fox News and her cameraman (who, coincidentally, used to live in the house behind mine where his mother still lives, also stuck in the Gas Explosion Red Zone).  The reporter begs us to be on camera.

"No way," I tell her.  "I don't want my students seeing me with wine in my hand on a Monday afternoon."

My daughter and her friend don't want to be on camera because at this point neither has showered in two days and they feel like they look slovenly (they do not -- both young women are still gorgeous).

Thankfully, one of my daughter's friends, Chris, agrees to step in front of the camera.  He is wearing Memory Foam slippers, is manning the grill, and is sipping a whiskey and coke.  (Don't judge us; it has been a harrowing five days.)  He speaks on camera about the sucky ways around the cold water situation, and the cameraman takes shots of the grill.

The news crew also takes a screenshot of my daughter's phone because she has been receiving automated text updates from Columbia Gas about the progress they're attempting to make in repairing their mess.  When she texts back a question, Columbia Gas opts her out involuntarily so they won't have to deal with her. 

After the news crew takes off, we finish Redneck Grillin', return to our homes, and wait for the ten o'clock news.  Honestly, it's nice that they stopped to chat with us, but we really are not being inconvenienced to the point of concern.  Not yet, anyway.  When we run out of gas for the grill and steak for our bellies, then we will be looking to stand in front of the cameras.