Dell 15-inch touchscreen laptop running Ubuntu — for when your café “Wi-Fi” is really just a philosophical concept.
Power adapter — because outlets hide in corners like cryptids.
2 TB external drive — for those days you accidentally back up the entire Internet.
Spare phone + charger — the one that actually rings when your main phone “dies” of embarrassment.
Boot/reload USBs (“red pill” and “blue pill”) — for the moment a stranger says, “Windows just updated itself.”
Northern Europe power adapter — every coworking space eventually becomes an embassy.
Trail soup (4 packs) & food tabs — for nights when DoorDash loses your building.
Electrolyte tablets — to survive open-plan offices with broken air conditioning.
Water filter straws (2) — for apartment tap water that tastes like optimism and copper.
Collapsible 2 L bottle and bowl — ideal for BYO ramen at 3 AM server cutovers.
Camping spork and table knife — because office kitchens never have utensils, just spoons with trauma.
Roll of quarters ($10) — laundromats, payphones, or convincing vending machines that you’re old-school legit.
Compact camp shower + poncho — one for protest days, the other for “surprise” building evacuations.
Spare shirt, socks, and hair ties — for spontaneous overnighters or moral triage in the airport bathroom.
Large tarp + rope + carabiners — emergency shade at the company picnic or privacy on the redeye floor.
Hatchet multi-tool — opens coconuts, fixes furniture, or ends HR conversations politely.
Paracord + matches + fire tube — for re-lighting office morale or roasting marshmallows at a blackout.
Backup flint sets — redundancy is love, and fire is Wi-Fi for the soul.
Compact first-aid kit — paper cuts from bureaucracy count.
Crank/solar emergency radio:
AM/FM/Weather — for when your ISP calls “planned maintenance.”
Large flashlight — doubles as “conversation ender” in dark parking garages.
Solar panel & hand crank — workout and hope generator.
Rechargeable batteries with USB out — because everything eventually needs a reboot.
Twine + duct tape — for fixing reality when IT can’t.
Rite-in-the-Rain pens + notebook — jot down revelations during power outages or dull meetings.
Mini binoculars + compass — spying on parking signs that lie.
6 ft tape measure — to confirm that “tiny house” is code for “glorified hallway.”
Largest Swiss (with pouch): for IKEA hex screws, bottle caps, and unexpected fishing opportunities.
Fire-starter cotton, mirror, knot guide, and two band-aids — for Tinder dates that escalate.
Large Swiss Army knife: proof that over-preparedness can still fit in a pocket.
SwissCard: TSA-approved mischief device for office emergencies.
Two hand-powered chainsaws — you never know when a fallen branch (or metaphor) needs clearing.
“Monkey Tools” (2) — perform 15 functions, none of which you remember when needed.
Small multi-tools and a sharpener — because dull blades make dull stories.
Tiny Survival Guide — doubles as bedtime reading during extended power failures.
Plastic card sets:
Wayfinding — when Google Maps gaslights you again.
Primitive cooking — useful after your air fryer unionizes.
Knots — for cables, hair, or office diplomacy.
Shelter building — for cubicle reconstruction after layoffs.
First aid — emotional or otherwise.
Paracord — fashion meets function.
Fire building — applies equally to relationships and morale.
This bag isn’t paranoia. It’s continuity. It’s comfort when the office HVAC quits, the grid hiccups, or your train dies mid-tunnel. Everything in here has saved a day, a plan, or a reputation at least once.
CC BY-NC 2025 stormrider