Livin in la Hamptons
There have been a lot of questions about the rules and set-up of this bet, so I’d like to address a few of them beginning with the choice of location.
When this harebrained scheme was concocted, one of the first issues was where to go. A forest? The desert? No, that would disregard the lunacy of this entire idea. Instead lets go somewhere where I can embarrass myself. The Hamptons, home of P-Diddy, socialites and i-bankers is the perfect locale.
Sure I’ll admit that this seems to make things easy, and perhaps on some level it does. Bear Grylls and “Survivorman” Les Stroud both are stuck in the middle of nowhere with the most basic of supplies. Before the criticism hits a crescendo however we have to remember a few things. Both of those gentlemen are survival experts. Stroud spent a year living a paleolithic existence and is a survivial expert. Grylls is a former Specialist Combat Survival Instructor and Patrol Medic with the British SAS Special Forces. They are highly qualified individuals.
I was not an eagle scout or even a boy scout. Instead I was a member of “Indian Guides” which my mom thought would be a good idea to join to meet other kids when we moved from the Bronx. We spent most of the time in a different house every meeting where we pretty much played board games while the fathers hung out in the kitchen. I knew the entire thing was a bad idea when one of the kids threatened to kill us all because we used the wrong color clay to build a model.
While I’ve never met another Indian guide, they must be out there. Likely they wouldn’t want to talk to me though as my dad scuttled the Indian Guides Memorial Day float by not showing up (”I’m not going to that stupidity”) and bringing the critical piece of the tipi the group required. Without it they were forced instead to sit in the back of a pick-up truck wearing headdresses waving at confused onlookers while dragging a half done Indian hut behind them. Any objection I had was easily bribed with hamburgers and hot dogs.
My dad reminded me today of my only camping experience. It included a tent in the backyard, roasting marshmallows listening to a Yankee game. We finally go so fed up with the bugs and humidity that we decided to sleep in the house instead. Who needs a tent when you have a bed and ice cream.
Because of the development in the area (i.e houses) and the time of year, many of the variables are likely going to work against me, from food sources to water temperature. While I won’t be truly living off the land, at the same time I have zero training and the critical elements are still in place. I need enough to have a chance, not get arrested (though that still might happen when stealing from farms) but hard enough where I will still most likely fail.
Besides, when my neighbors look outside (the houses are very close to each other) and see me sleeping in a tent, waking up, chasing a squirrel around the yard with a harpoon, rejoicing at the kill, skinning it, roasting it over an open fire, screaming in the middle of the night because I thought a raccoon was a Yeti, and then they decide to call the cops, I don’t think being in the Hamptons is going to make things easier. If anything, it’ll just add to everyone’s amusement.