This is possibly the worst idea anyone has ever had in the history of humankind – other than the Naperville North traffic flow. If there ever really was a zombie apocalypse, I would honestly just give up and accept my fate – do I really want to spend the rest of my life in hiding, having to forage in the woods for berries instead of foraging in my fridge for parmesan cheese? But I was asked this question one day, and in the ~1 minute I had to come up with an idea, this is what I got: bunk with the most unhinged, definitely-has-a-nuclear-bunker celebrity I can think of. The obvious choice for this would be Tom Cruise, Scientologist supreme.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Look at his eyes…his soulless eyes… they’re devoid of all human emotion.

Let’s cut that nightmare fuel with a quick flashback – I was nine, my brother was thirteen and in his zombie phase. He showed me a 5 second clip from World War Z of zombies piling on top of each other to breach a wall. I couldn’t sleep for about a week after, and he’s probably the reason I’ve gone 17 years without ever watching a horror movie. So when I say I’d suck it up and die, know that yes, I’m a coward, but I’m also realistic. I held a bazooka once at Cantigny Park, but that’s the extent of my weapons expertise. Don’t even get me started on long-distance running.

So back to my soon-to-be best friend Tom Cruise. I’ll break this up into individual steps just to ease the burden of absurdity you’re about to endure.

Step 1: Retail therapy

I’m not sure what brand I’d choose (Prada, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, etc.) but I want to choose something garishly expensive, ugly, and eye-catching (so probably Balenciaga). Also, it has to come in a set of carry-on and check-in luggage (this is VERY important). If the world is ending, I don’t think my parents would mind helping me in my survival master plan and spend a few thousand on a designer luggage set.

Step 2: Your package has arrived

Well, I should have added a zeroth step: convince my parents this isn’t ridiculous (which it is) so they go along with step 2. I get into the check-in suitcase, and my parents and I embark on a road trip to Tom Cruise’s house. I know he probably has seven, but we’ll figure out where he’s at somehow. Granted that I have at least a few hours between finding out there’s been a zombie apocalypse and the zombies reaching me, I should be able to figure out how to get onto the dark web and find his address. For legal reasons, this is a joke. I don’t care about Tom Cruise’s home address.

Step 3: Home sweet home

In Hollywood heist format, my parents put on obviously fake mustaches and jumpsuits (my dad would definitely agree to this) and drop off the suitcases (with me!) on his doorstep. Hypothetically, Tom Cruise sees the luggage, thinks “Hmm. Thanks Balenciaga for the ugliest luggage set I’ve ever seen. I’ll take it!” and brings it inside his house.

Step 4: Let’s hope I have a winning smile

Well, obviously he’ll notice an abnormality when the check-in suitcase is a couple pounds too heavy, so he will open it, and ergo find me. Here’s where things get risky. Knowing Tom Cruise and Balenciaga, there’s a chance he will think I’m part of the PR and it’s some weird avante-garde conceptual art political statement thing and take me in. If he doesn’t, which he probably won’t because why would you take in a 17 year old child that you find in a luggage PR gift, I’ll have to use my fast wit, infinite charm, and pearly whites to convince him to let me stay. Easier said than done.

Step 5: An unbreakable bond

If steps 1-4 go well (heavy emphasis on the if), I’ll have an in. At this point, I convince my new best friend Tom Cruise to let me stay in his top secret Scientologist bunker with him. He obviously says yes because, as I said before, we’re best friends, and we live out the rest of our days in a bunker the size of an airplane hangar with all his A-List celebrity friends. Tom Cruise’s birthday is a day after mine – so we would obviously get a vanilla chocolate marble cake for our joint birthday party and watch fireworks for July 4th (okay maybe not fireworks but definitely distress flares). Side note: I googled the current list of Scientologists, and turns out Nancy Cartwright (voices Bart Simpson), John Travolta, Michael Peña (Luis from Ant-Man), Elisabeth Moss, and Marisol Nichols (not quite A-List but she was on Riverdale and went to North which is a bizarre combination and merits entrance into the bunker) are all Scientologists. What the heck.

Step 6: Post-apocalypse income

Assuming the zombie apocalypse happens before I go to college, I’d eventually come out of the bunker years older and without a college education. This is by no means a hindrance to my possible success, but you should know I’m a lazy person, so if there’s a way I can make money in a post-apocalyptic world without going to college, I’m in. If I’m spending years underground with famous people, hopefully they’ll trust me enough to give me their autographs. Again, it’s Tom Cruise’s bunker, and he probably has a LOT of famous people there. Lots of famous people = lots of autographs = lots of money from selling said autographs to teens who are into the “vintage aesthetic” (if the apocalypse takes 15 years to blow over, I’m sure an autograph from Jerry Seinfeld would get me at least 20k).

Step 7: Die knowing that I tricked Tom Cruise into saving my life

Sweet, sweet victory.

If you’re still reading this, either you’re my assigned commenter or you have an extremely strong sense of self will. Either way, I’m so sorry and I hope you see now why I’d let the zombies take me. This is the alternative.