When Wi-Fi Went Missing: A Comedy of Modern Survival

There are two kinds of disasters in life. The first is natural—earthquakes, floods, hurricanes. And the second? The Wi-Fi going out. Guess which one happened in my house last Friday night?

It all began at 8:03 p.m. My younger brother screamed from his room, “The internet is gone!” Normally, I don’t take his words seriously. This is the same boy who once yelled “Fire!” when it was just steam from the kettle. But then my YouTube video froze mid-sentence, and I realized—this was real.

At first, denial kicked in. “Maybe it’s just the router acting shy,” I told myself. I unplugged it, plugged it back in, and gave it a motivational speech like it was an underperforming student. Nothing. The little lights kept blinking at me like they were mocking my existence.

By 8:10 p.m., chaos spread through the house. My sister stormed in like a revolutionary leader. “How am I supposed to post my Instagram story now?!” she cried, holding her phone like it was a lifeless body. Meanwhile, my father was trying to log into his office portal, muttering words that could have made the router cry if it had ears.

At 8:20 p.m., we held our first "family emergency meeting." It was historic, because usually the only time we all gather is during dinner or when the electricity bill arrives. My mother suggested we “talk to each other like people did in the olden days.” My father glared at her as if she had suggested we live in caves again. My sister sighed dramatically and said, “Fine, but don’t expect me to laugh at anyone’s boring jokes.”

The minutes dragged on. By 8:35 p.m., my brother had started pacing the hallway like a detective solving a murder. “Maybe the neighbors hacked our Wi-Fi,” he declared. “That old uncle next door looks suspicious.” My mother rolled her eyes, but deep down we were all considering the possibility.

At 8:50 p.m., something shocking happened. We all… talked. Like actual humans. My father told us a story from his youth, about how they had only one black-and-white TV in the entire neighborhood. My sister looked horrified, like he was describing a horror movie. My mother laughed so hard that for a second, we forgot about the internet.

But the peace didn’t last. By 9:10 p.m., we were back to blaming each other. My brother accused me of downloading “suspiciously large files.” My sister swore that her online shopping spree had nothing to do with it. My father threatened to switch to another internet provider altogether. The atmosphere was more dramatic than a Pakistani drama serial.

Then came the worst part: the realization that without Wi-Fi, there was no Netflix. The remote sat there like a useless stick. We were forced to watch—brace yourself—normal TV. The horror! The news anchor’s voice was so loud, I half expected him to climb out of the screen and join us.

By 9:45 p.m., we had officially reached survival mode. My sister started journaling like she was writing letters from prison. My brother began experimenting with shadow puppets on the wall. My father read the newspaper out loud like it was Shakespeare. And me? I stared at the router, whispering prayers in every language I knew, hoping one would unlock the internet gods.

Finally, at exactly 10:02 p.m., the Wi-Fi returned. The lights blinked steadily like a miracle. My brother screamed in victory. My sister immediately posted a story captioned, “OMG! That was the worst 2 hours of my life 😭 #WiFiIsBack.” My father pretended not to care, but I swear I saw him smile while logging into his office portal.

We were back online, the crisis was over. Yet something had changed. For two hours, we had experienced a world without Wi-Fi. And though we all ran back to our screens, a small part of me knew—we had survived something legendary.

So, if you ever want to know what true family bonding looks like, just unplug the router. Trust me, you’ll either discover new depths of love… or end up blaming each other for imaginary hacks. Either way, you’ll have a story to tell.