Day 45 of the government shutdown, and I’ve realized something profound: I miss the National Park Rangers more than I miss ESPN on YouTubeTV, which is to say I’m not entirely sure what I’m missing at all. Maybe it ends this week? Maybe time is a flat circle.
We’re living through the longest game of “What’s Open, What’s Closed, and Does Anyone Actually Know?” in American history. The Smithsonian is dark. The national parks are operating on the honor system, which means they now resemble a college dorm bathroom. Food inspectors aren’t inspecting food, but somehow I’m still eating QuikTrip chicken fingers because I make terrible decisions regardless of federal oversight.
The thing is, we’ve done this before with other closures. Every Sunday, millions of Americans stare longingly at locked Chick-fil-A doors, their souls crying out for a chicken sandwich with extra pickles. We’ve collectively accepted that our waffle fries must wait until Monday. We adapted. We survived. Some of us even found other restaurants, though we don’t like to talk about that.
So why can’t we just close the government every Wednesday? Call it “Federal Wellness Day” or “Democracy Needs a Nap” or whatever focus-grouped phrase makes it sound intentional. We could keep the important stuff running—you know, feeding starving children, keeping missiles pointed in the right direction, making sure the president’s Twitter account has adult supervision.
But the Capitol Hill gift shop? That can take a mid-week siesta.
The weird part is how the shutdown has become this bizarre X-ray machine for government bloat. Suddenly we’re all asking questions we should have asked years ago. “Wait, we have a Beard Board? The government has an official stance on facial hair?” Turns out, we do. Or did. I’m not sure if it’s currently operational, which might explain my neighbor’s recent mustache choices.
I experienced my own version of this revelation when ESPN disappeared from YouTubeTV during their contract dispute. I had mentally prepared myself for an apocalypse of missed sports coverage. I imagined wandering the earth like a nomad, desperately seeking out sports bars just to glimpse a Monday Night Football score. I considered carrier pigeons. I looked into smoke signals.
Then Monday came. Then went. And I realized I’d watched exactly zero hours of football and had somehow survived. I tracked down my library card and checked out a book. I’d had a conversation with my son that didn’t involve him saying “uh-huh” while staring at a screen. I’d discovered that my living room had a ceiling, which was architecturally interesting.
The government shutdown is our national ESPN-on-YouTubeTV moment. We’re discovering what we actually need versus what we’ve just gotten used to having around.
Except people are suffering. Real people with real bills and real kids who eat real food that costs real money. Air traffic controllers are working without pay, which is a bit like asking someone to drive cross-country backwards the middle of 12 trucks—a volunteer opportunity that somehow never makes it onto those “meaningful ways to give back” lists.
So I sincerely hope that the shutdown ends this week. The kids can get fed. The planes can get back in the air, and I can once again watch Monday Night Football with a park ranger. (I’m still kind of confused on what the government controls and doesn’t).
(He’s no longer The Fake Ned, at least on Twitter, but you’ll find him on the X machine as @chriskamler)
