Tricky Business by Dave Barry Page B

to operate it. They were the Greatest Generation, men and women who had survived the Depression, defeated the Nazis, built America into the greatest nation the world had ever seen. But this damned gizmo had beaten them.
    Every now and then, a resident would bravely pick up the remote and, with shaking hands, push some buttons in an effort to change the channel. The result was almost always bad. Sometimes the TV would shut off entirely. Sometimes the screen would turn bright blue; sometimes a menu would appear, and nobody could figure out how to get rid of it, and everybody would watch the menu until a staff member wandered by and fixed the problem. So although the center had cable TV and received 98 channels, the residents were limited to whichever one happened to be on when they entered the room. Today it was NewsPlex Nine.
    â€œLook at this,” said Phil. “They’re showing the supermarket morons again.”
    On the screen, for the third time since Arnie and Phil had started watching, was a reporter in a Publix supermarket. This was a standard element of the NewsPlex Nine storm coverage: the frenzy of food-and-supplies buying by panicked residents, who for the most part were panicked because they’d been watching NewsPlex Nine.
    â€œAs we’ve been seeing all afternoon,” the reporter was saying, “the aisles here are jammed with worried shoppers, stocking up for the worst.” Behind her, people smiled and waved at the camera.
    The reporter turned to a fifty-ish woman in a house-dress, put the microphone into her face.
    â€œWhat supplies are you buying?” she asked.
    â€œWell,” said the woman, looking into her cart, “I got batteries and water, peanut butter, bleach, let’s see here . . . soup, cold cuts. Also I got some Vaseline.”
    â€œFor the storm?” said the reporter.
    â€œNo, we’re just out of Vaseline,” said the woman.
    â€œBack to you in the NewsPlex, Bill and Jill.”
    â€œWhat I wanna know,” said Arnie, “is why bleach?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” said Phil.
    â€œAlways with the hurricane, people are buying bleach.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo, what do they do with the bleach?”
    â€œYou need the bleach,” said Phil. “In case.”
    The truth was that Phil had no idea what the bleach was for, even though, like most South Floridians, he firmly believed you needed some. Everybody bought it, because everybody else did. There were hundreds of thousands of gallons of emergency Clorox in cupboards all over South Florida, sitting, ready and waiting, next to the emergency cans of Spam manufactured in 1987.
    â€œIn case of what ?” said Arnie. “A hurricane comes, knocks down your house, you’re gonna do a load of laundry?”
    Phil looked at Arnie for a moment.
    â€œDoes it ever occur to you,” he said, “that you think too much?”
    â€œThat’s exactly what my wife used to say,” said Arnie. “She always bought bleach.”
    â€œSo did my wife,” said Phil.
    The two old men sat silent for a moment, both thinking about their wives.
    On the TV, NewsPlex Nine was now showing a reporter standing on Miami Beach. He was wearing a yellow rain poncho, with the hood off so you could see his hair being blown around.
    â€œThe rain has been coming and going all afternoon,” he was saying, “and as you can see we’re getting some strong gusts.”
    â€œOooh,” said Arnie. “Strong gusts.”
    â€œWe’re already seeing some wind damage,” the reporter was saying. “Mike, if you could point the camera over here . . .”
    The camera swung away, focused for a moment on a large palm branch lying on the beach, fronds fluttering.
    â€œOh no!” said Arnie. “A branch is down!”
    â€œCall out the National Guard!” said Phil, and now the two of them were laughing and coughing. This earned them a