Back in the days when American dads were building fallout shelters in their basements and backyards, I always wondered where the garbage would go during thermonuclear war.

I wondered this because one of my preteen chores was to put out the garbage on collection days. Between my seven brothers and sisters and me, we could produce huge amounts of trash. Where would you put it all in the little room my dad was building? Certainly the garbagemen would be in their own shelters. They might not start picking up trash on Tuesdays and Fridays for a couple of weeks.

It never occurred to me that we would run out of food long before the garbage got out of hand. And all of us using that tiny toilet, with one baby brother still in diapers — how would that work? Sure, millions of people would be burned to toast, but what about my privacy? A shower curtain is not going to do it, Dad.

I had many deep, profound questions to which no one seemed to have answers: Why aren’t we stocking any cat food? Why isn’t Timmy’s dad building one of these?