Seven meals separate civilization and anarchy - it's said that seven is the most we can miss, before we collapse completely away from each other. When I rolled into town, I didn't realize that those around me would be two meals more crumbled than I.

Actually, that's too strongly stated, unless there were people eating electricity directly. Still, there had been an event affecting millions: the county I'd come to visit had just hosted some sort of equinoctial gale, which had crossed half a continent farther than the locals would have guessed. It had hungered for those unwary trees, and the less-wary power lines beneath them, and, well, it had won this round. Only about one block in six had power, traffic lights were out, and the hotel with my reservation advised me that it had been like that since before lunch, and that they couldn't find me a place with lights before the morning.

I had work to do the next day, with a client likely to have generators and expectations. No real choice to make - I checked in. I learned quickly that there are few feelings more pitiful than sitting alone in a unpowered hotel room, and hopped back in the car to get the situation checked out.

This was to be my first full week at that site, but I'd visited the area before; I had some minor orientation to the neighborhoods around. A few miles of driving confirmed what I'd seen coming in; roads were mostly clear, property was mostly intact, people were mostly unplugged and disoriented. The one operating convenience store I found was mobbed, and the conversations I had while queuing there confirmed that what I'd seen was the extent of what anyone knew. Hey, it couldn't be that bad, someone could still sell smokes and beef jerky. We still had civilization, at least there on line.

The sun, however, was sinking, and it struck me that a genuine meal would go well, before we all went into darkness together. I threaded my way back to the first bar-restaurant I'd spotted on my way out, and found a spot to park free of debris. People seemed to be flowing oddly in and out the door as I approached.

In some corporate playbook somewhere, a diagram showed a greeter at the door - two meals farther on toward anarchy, there were only disoriented potential customers to be seen. Seeing no guidance, I kept advancing through both sets of double doors, and came to stand among those waiting inside. I saw a clipboard with names, but no one with a pen. When I asked the room my question, the man twiddling his cellphone looked up long enough to inform me of the lengthy anticipated wait. Still no real choice to make - I stood patiently, near to the clipboard, as the civilized do.

Three tipsy-seeming men burst through the doors next, and proceeded past us all toward one of the empty tables I'd been eyeing. A server appeared, passing through; small words were exchanged, and down they sat. There was a silent shifting of postures among those waiting, a breeze of disapproval passing through. Perhaps that pack of men had skipped breakfast, and were one meal farther along. We were collectively unprepared to behave that way.

A lady wearing something like a uniform, who had been approaching the clipboard, pivoted slightly and continued past, to meet the server three steps farther past. She blocked the server's path, despite being outweighed two-to-one, and adopted a stance of instruction. The server heard what I couldn't, and understanding and contrition crossed her face. The last words left her with a small smile, before she turned to resume her duties. The lady who'd squared that away held her stance for one more beat, and her welcoming smile was in place as she turned to receive those who'd waited.

She pushed her glasses back on her nose as she detailed the situation to me. There was nothing surprising about it, so I simply appreciated her technique. I nodded and smiled, gave her a name to write down, and retreated through one set of doors to the small anteroom. I stood there only a moment before the couple which had been behind me retreated to the parking lot, having expressed their frustrations with the situation described, and their unwillingness to be civilized about it. I shrugged - if you can't make the real choice, you can go be hungry.

I curled up on a bench in that anteroom, and pulled my hip-pocket pad of notes, thinking to review for the coming day. Mostly I wound up wondering what it was with me and birthdays and bars, anyway. The next few minutes saw several people trickle in, and I became familiar with the details of the lady's speech, hearing it from one door away. "Short-staffed." "Hour and a half to two hours." "Sorry." Couldn't tell quite when her last meal had been, but I could tell she was on about the second Z of frazzled.

Enough of that, I thought, as I scribbled on a fresh sticky note. I burst back inside a touch too abruptly; she drew too quick a breath when she saw me. Not her fault at all, and I hastened to explain.

"Can I stick this to your door? Save you some pain?" I stepped around to stand beside her on her left, and held out the polite summary I'd written of the things she had been saying. Not what she'd expected at all, not from her night or my entrance.

She peered down at the pad, brow furrowed, then up at me wide eyed, from the vicinity of my right bicep. I had a second to watch her form words; it seems that I must have smiled. "No, that's all right, but thank you."

I nodded as I stepped back to the door. "Thought I'd offer."

Her young eyes danced a bit as she spun back to work. "If we get into trouble, I'll let you know."

Heh. "Hey, anything I can do."

I walked out to the sidewalk this time; lit up the first from my new pack, and paced a bit, as usual. I amused myself, as the sun finally set, by speaking briefly with those who would approach.

"Two hour wait." "Really?" My best long-suffering grimace: "Yeah." Turning around: "Okay, thanks." It was interesting how the conversations failed to vary. Made the cigarette go a bit faster; added a civil veneer to the evening. Two meals in, it seems, people are still willing to believe that they have allies.

As I flipped the butt into the parking lot and turned to resume my vigil inside, the double doors cracked open. Her head peeked out, looked to both sides, found only us. "You ready?" I grinned a bit and stepped to my position on her left, and we walked inside together. I figured twenty minutes since we'd met, and ten since anyone had used the door. As I walked inside, I fancied that I saw a situation somewhat less frantic.

A server met us at the clipboard, and looked to her boss expectantly. "Table for one," she said, smiling. She raised her hand to the vicinity of my bicep - one more meal along, perhaps, she would actually have touched it. "Take good care of him - he's been our bodyguard."

She was already walking away to her next task as my eyes unrolled; there'd be no more rejoinders. I watched her doing that for just one beat, before being led away for my meal.

People seem to want to find civil ways to work together. Given any chance to be good to each other, being good is the real choice we make. I find it's worth making space for that chance every so often; to me, it's worth it to reach out just a little. It's worth it to me to try, even two meals in.

As unlikely as it might seem, being good still gets you fed.