How to Survive In A Crisis, By Adrian Summerfield

 

In the early days of the pandemic, the country experienced shortages the like of which hadn’t been experienced for many years. This is one story.

“I can’t help it,” Adrian Summerfield (41) told the local Magistrates Court via video-link, “whenever a potential crisis develops I think the end of the world is coming and begin panic-buying to try to ensure I will be able to survive.”

Here is what happened.

Mr Summerfield, unemployed and living alone in a Council property in Gladstone Court, had been reported to the police by a security guard at the local supermarket for shop-lifting, despite having £143.75 in cash on him at the time of his arrest. He admitted the charge, and claimed the money in his pocket was a Universal Credit payment he’d obtained before entering the shop and was needed to pay other things.

Following the arrest Mr Summerfield became abusive, shouting to the police officers attending that he was hyper-ventilating and needed his ‘whizzer’ urgently, and he’d inadvertently left it at home. The officers quickly drove him to Gladstone Court, where he immediately attempted to run off as he exited the car. As Mr Summerfield was using crutches at the time, he was unable to get very far before being detained for the second time.

The officers accompanied him to his flat, and became suspicious when Mr Summerfield asked them to wait outside as he’d only be a moment picking up the ventilator he needed. Given what had happened a few moments earlier, they insisted on going into the property with him, where they discovered a cornucopia of unopened packs of toilet rolls, tinned goods, condoms and even dog food spread across every available surface, including the floor.

The police officers asked Mr Summerfield if he could explain what was going on, at which point he shouted “I admit it, I’ve nicked all of it. The world is going to end!”

That was a fortnight ago.

The Magistrate hearing the case now responded to the accused’s opening statement.

“I’m of the opinion your use of the word ‘panic-buying’ is somewhat erroneous, given by your own admission you, er, shop-lifted everything the police officers found when they went into your flat.”

“I was generalising, your Honour,” replied Adrian.

“I’m intrigued by two things,” the Magistrate went on, seemingly accepting Adrian’s explanation of adjectival use without further comment, “firstly, why you decided on these specific items and, secondly, how you even managed to get them out of the supermarkets without being challenged.”

“I was responding to the media hysteria generated in the build-up to the coronavirus crisis by getting hysterical myself and trying to obtain items I thought would sustain me in when society collapsed,” said Adrian quietly. “As I walked round, I could see other shoppers grabbing these items, so I just copied them.”

“You don’t own a dog, so why steal dog food?” asked the by now curious Magistrate. “Similarly, the reports I’ve seen indicate you have no partner. Why steal condoms?”

“Because they were there, and other shoppers were doing it,” Adrian admitted sheepishly. “Let’s face it, behaving rationally goes out of the window in a crisis situation. I suppose if everything was to get worse I could eat the dog food. I hope it doesn’t come to that though. As for the condoms, it was an impulse-driven decision.”

Adrian continued. “As to how I was able to avoid paying for the stuff, I don’t really know. Everywhere I went was like a scrum for a few days. I just wandered around with items under my arms or in bags I brought with me until I could see an unmanned exit. Then I walked through unchallenged. I guess the staff were too busy making sure there was enough stock, or dealing with the massive increase in footfall. It was, with hindsight, ridiculously easy.”

The Magistrate summoned up as much righteous indignation as he could with the technology currently at his disposal. “The reports also say this is not a first offence. Is this true?”

“Yes your Honour. During the swine-flu pandemic of 2009 I was persuaded by news reports that everything I held to be sacred was about to disappear. I walked out my well-paid management job and went home to explain to my wife how precarious things were and how we needed to make plans to survive the imminent apocalypse.”

“She thought I was mad and told me so. When I suggested I was one of the few sane people left she went upstairs, packed her bags and went to live with her parents. I haven’t seen her since. We’re divorced now. Thank God I rejected her suggestions about trying to start a family. Attempting to bring children up in this ridiculous world is simply crazy.”

“After she left me, I didn’t do anything for a week. I just sat there, crying. By the time I got myself back together I discovered all our joint accounts had been frozen. I had no money. I was a supermarket middle-manager before I quit, so I knew something about how the shops locally operated. I started to shop-lift to provide food and other essentials for me to eat.”

“I was good at it, though I do say so myself, and if it hadn’t been for the fact I tripped over a poodle whilst hurrying away one afternoon with three tins of pilchards and a Melton Mowbray pork pie, breaking my leg in four places, I believe I would have been able to continue my activities uninterrupted for much, much longer.”

“Ah yes, the broken leg,” interjected the Magistrate. “I note the severity of the injury means you have to use aids when walking about now. All four of the operations you had to attempt to repair the damage failed.”

“Yes,” said Adrian quietly. “The surgeon tried her best, but the velocity of impact with the marble floor following the trip was such the bone splintered. She told me I was lucky I can still walk at all.”

The Magistrate looked at his notes again. “I feel sorry for you but, looking at how things have developed since then, it seems you haven’t helped yourself. You were arrested in 2016 at a demonstration. Your refusal to accept you had done anything wrong then – and bear in mind you were caught painting slogans on to a municipal building – resulted in you being assessed by mental health professionals to try to establish whether or not you were in some way mentally ill. Thankfully for you they said you weren’t.”

 “Which leads me to where we are today. You’ve admitted guilt. It’s not your first offence, although there may be mitigating circumstances going back several years that, at least partially, explain your actions. What are we to do with you?”

 In the end, Adrian received a 12-month prison sentence, which was suspended for two years because of the coronavirus pandemic and (although this was never made aware to him, or indeed anybody outside the Prison Service for obvious reasons) the fact the prisons currently had nowhere to house disabled people. His offer to return the return the shop-lifted items (valued at £2755.95) was accepted in view of ongoing supply-chain issues and the fact none of the item were anywhere near their use-by date. The containers were completely unblemished, which made it simple for the supermarkets to re-introduce them into the aisles quickly and without comment.

Adrian limped back to his flat and celebrated by making himself a coffee. It was time to get back into the old routine. He lifted a floorboard in the bathroom and recovered his mobile phone. At random, he chose one of the seventeen debit cards bearing the name Clive O’Grady that were also secured there, plus a couple of £20 notes. He put them in his wallet. Then he turned on his encrypted laptop, also hidden underneath the floorboards, and got busy.

 By day Adrian let everyone think he was a loser continuing to go downhill following a series of unfortunate events. He was happy to play the gullible idiot who believed the end of the world was just around the corner, as he knew when he was caught breaking the rules, which always happened and couldn’t be avoided, the authorities would look more kindly on him and slap his wrists rather than impose anything more serious.

But by night, Adrian led a campaign providing misinformation about all sorts of subjects and was well-paid for his troubles. Actually, Clive O’Grady was well paid, but that’s not really important now. Currently, the subject making all the money was coronavirus. Was it part of a Chinese conspiracy? Will there ever be a vaccine? All that kind of stuff.

Every now and again it was necessary to do something to bring whatever subject Adrian was currently involved with back into the public eye. What better than a handicapped man going off on one in a public place? The media organisations loved all that! Life was great. The authorities were gullible. Mental health professionals hadn’t got a clue. All it took was a bit of stage management.

If there was a downside, he supposed it was tripping over the fucking poodle. Having done that though, the period of recovery in hospital had given him all the time he needed to fine-tune the plan he’d had in the back of his mind since the epiphany, when he’d realised all the doom-mongers were actually in it for themselves rather than reaching out to others in gestures of solidarity and understanding. Clever bastards!