We’d like to think that in a crisis the U.S. security apparatus comes together in a moment akin the end of Independence Day, but behind the scenes it’s often more like Derek Zoolander with a computer. No administration gets a national-security crisis “right.” Ultimately its members are only mitigating an ever-scarier menagerie of risks, which I will leave others to advise on. But, having lost some 400 hours of my life to the White House Situation Room as director and later a senior adviser on the National Security Council Staff, I can offer my hints about what Trump’s national-security team will almost certainly neglect or get wrong when coping with their own parade of horrors.

You’d think this is obvious (but it’s not). It’s easy for policymakers and their minions to feel they are in the zone when the onslaught of missile threats, pandemic disease, and cyber breaches hits; in practice, it may be more Twilight Zone episode than Steph Curry nailing three-pointers. The obvious (prepare thoughtful options, bathe) gets discarded in favor of the simple (just keep going). So when in doubt:

Behave. National-security policymakers huddle together like sheep evading the wolves in a crisis, which results in dozens of meetings spanning dozens of hours in the Situation Room. This is good—we want people to deliberate and argue and pontificate together rather than freak out separately, and the Obama White House was famous for its marathon sessions (a typical discussion might involve a dozen to two dozen senior officials and staff crammed in an windowless room smelling faintly of burgers for hours). But meeting etiquette tends to fall out the window when the stress gets high, so a few hints. Don’t fall asleep (to be fair, almost everyone does, but keep it to a minimum). You can eat, but preferably not chips from a crinkly bag. Be kind and insert the obvious joke about no fighting in the war room (Top Gun quotes are also a great tension-buster). Above all, do not hover when a meeting has concluded to whisper “I just didn’t feel comfortable saying this in the room, but—”

Eat. The national-security diet is a strange one: gallons of coffee and stolen boxes of White House M&Ms replace canceled anniversary dinners, generally inducing weight-gain you can think of as the “NSC 15.” Crisis meetings will inevitably occur during meal times and decision-makers will find themselves clutching their rumbling stomachs mid strike-options briefing. Apart from individual discomfort, this is bad for national security. The most romantic and moving gestures I recall from my time on the NSC staff were people buying me sandwiches. If you’re getting one, get seven.

Sleep. Lack of sleep is a sadistic badge of honor among national-security types (see: the midnight-hours classified email sent from one’s desk, or the “I don’t know what time-zone I’m in” diplomat back from marathon travel). Dark under-eye circles denote true dedication to the cause. But missing shut-eye can cause people in high-stakes situations to make catastrophic decisions, and jet-lag has famously led to some stupendously bad calls by diplomats just off the plane. Trump’s national-security team should keep making dates with their pillows, or at least bring one to the office.