The End is Coming, or Now Don't Forget to Have Some Fun, You Hear?

I have been concerned for a while now, certain, in particular, that a virulent strain of something akin to the plague will sweep across the continents, depriving us of all-you-can-eat buffets and soy-milk-latte-no-whip concoctions, leveling the playing field to something below sea level.  I can picture the solitude, hear the silence.  Even now, I am making apocalyptic plans to steal a Winnebago and drive south, where I will eat oranges and shout hysterically when faced by ‘possums.

And here on my daily bus commute in to work, I survey those around me and wonder…

Here, come sit next to me.  You don’t have anything else to do, do you?  Frankly, I’m a little concerned about some of the people present, but when the end comes, we’re going to need everyone’s cooperation, am I right?

Take the bus driver, for example.  We already know some things about him:  he can handle a multi-wheeled apparatus; he can have the rules for the bus (no drinking, no eating, must collapse baby strollers, etc.) right in front of him and not feel the need to enforce them; he is impervious to heat, as evidenced by his grudgingly turning on the air conditioner the other day only after the melting of several commuters.

What we don’t know is whether or not he will bend to our will.

Who else we got here? 

Hmm.  Twelve women, eight men, a quasi-thug with the waist of his pants ever-so-slightly north of his knees and a cell phone growing out of his ear, and a guy in a wheelchair and reliant on cannistered oxygen.

It’s gonna be tough sledding for a while.

The world is in trouble, ladies and gentlemen. None of these people – myself included – look like they’re up to the challenge of birthing a new civilization. 

In light of the need to be practical in this practically ridiculous scenario, I have taken stock of myself; and I think you’ll be as surprised as I was to discover that I am going to be of no help whatsoever:

I know how to milk a cow, but I’d rather not.

I would not trust me to set your broken bones, help you deliver your baby, or pull one of your teeth.

I don’t know how to repair any kind of engine.

I can’t remember if the cure for a snake bite is sucking the poison out of it or peeing on it. Either way, someone’s going to be embarrassed. 

I could go on and on, but already I’m worried about the future.

Thank goodness we’re all perfectly safe, huh?

I don’t know.  What do you think?  Should we just stay on the bus today?