GOVERNMENT APPROVED HOME FALLOUT SHELTER SNACK BAR
MICHAEL SMITH, 1983/2023
This is extremely funny. A fallout shelter with a snack bar. You could stop there and honestly still have the whole piece. Because that phrase tells you everything about a certain kind of American brain. Yes, nuclear annihilation. Yes, global catastrophe. Yes, the possible end of civilization. But also: where are people gonna sit? What are we gonna eat? Can we make it feel a little welcoming down there? That is the vibe. Smith based this on an actual U.S. government shelter plan from 1980, which is amazing, because it means at some point somebody in an office was like: alright, if the bombs drop, let's get these people a rec room. Maybe some canned goods. Maybe some games. Maybe a little basement morale. Michael Smith's whole deal is a character called Mike. This guy wandering through American life getting gently flattened by its products, its systems, its relentless promise that everything is fine. Mike is the man who follows the instructions. Mike is the man who believes the brochure. And this is what Mike's survival looks like: a snack bar in a bunker, government approved. Because the piece is not really making fun of fear. It's making fun of the way Americans furnish fear. We accessorize it. We organize it. We put it on shelves. We add snacks. We make sure the end of the world still feels sort of user-friendly. And the title is beautiful. Government Approved. Two words that are supposed to calm you down immediately. Like: okay, great. The shelter is approved. By whom? For what? How bad is the situation where a government-approved snack bar is now part of the survival plan? Nuclear panic becomes home decor. The apocalypse, but make it suburban. The apocalypse, but with refreshments. And then it stops being funny. Not the shelter. The faith behind it. The belief that no matter what's coming, there will still be a system, a checklist, a folding chair, and something salty in a bowl to help you pretend this is still normal.