{shortcode-2e050f2d5570399776177f8e5f185e732b500327} HUDS workers are set to strike this Wednesday should they not reach an agreement with the University, meaning the comfort of unlimited swipes and friendly faces in our dining halls (shoutout to John) may disappear indefinitely. Who knows how long it could take Harvard to find adequate funds for its workers from that thirty-seven billion dollar endowment?

First no light, now no food: we’re sensing a clear downward trend in the basic living needs department. The end could be nigh, so here’s Flyby’s survival guide for outlasting a HUDS apocalypse.

Take Precautions
You must forage for provisions in advance. To properly stock up, enter the dhall on Monday with a savage mindset, and proceed with your overt theft like nobody's watching. With Tupperware poised, confidently ladle oatmeal, chili, and chowder. Fill designated containers to the brim with cookies and your cereal of choice. You’ll also want to load up on condiments to spice up those Nutrigrain bars that have been under your bed since move-in. An entire bottle of chocolate syrup and can of whipped cream should do the trick. Finish off by stuffing your backpack with 30 apples. Just squirrel those babies away, you could be in this for the long haul!

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures
The quest for free food begins. Employing activities-fair level determination, scrutinize club emails for beacons like “free Felipe’s” and follow the Harvard Today food watch with a keen eye. Speaking of guilt-free mooching, give your parents a call. Be sure to sound extra meager and whine for a care package of snacks. Or try groveling to admin. Seeing as they’re in loco parentis and the stubborn cause of the strike, fight the man and demand a refund of the daily cost of meals, $36 (who knew it was this much?!). Just imagine four Chipotle burrito bowls a day, and life without HUDS seems a little more sufferable.

Last Resorts
It’s been a few hours, days, weeks, and it’s time to put those FOP endurance skills in place. Forget drinking your own pee, lick John Harvard’s foot for sustenance. This could be a problematic strategy once it gets cold, but it would certainly make a statement to Faust. Stay hungry, kids.