I’m so relieved the Apocalypse is finally coming. After years of waiting for it and hearing what to expect, I say it’s about time! I’m grateful for American writers, filmmakers, political pundits and religious figures who’ve been consistently warning us about the End of Days, whether to expect zombies, climatic catastrophe, pandemics, nuclear war or worse, the disappearance of cat photos posted online.
I want to be a role model in my positive attitude about the Apocalypse, like the San Francisco woman living in a cliffside apartment overlooking the Pacific Ocean when a sixty foot section of a cliff gave way a few days ago. Asked what she thought about this potentially cataclysmic event, she replied, “I just thought the ocean view was getting closer.”
A good friend has begun wearing a necklace with a Hamsa, the good-luck amulet shaped like a human palm, including fingers. My friend firmly believes the Hamsa will ward off evil and the End of Days, although more than once guys have high-fived her chest.
I told my son Andy how happy I was that the Apocalypse is due, either at the same time as my six-month dental appointment or my yearly Pap smear, I can’t remember which. But I know it’s close to one of my annual appointments. I’m supposed to get an Apocalypse reminder card in the mail.
I called Andy to suggest he buy extra water, flashlights and Triscuits for the Apocalypse. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss it, since, like most 20-year-olds, he’s trying to find a job. The closest he’s come to a job was for a Craigslist-advertised “Fitter,” but when he showed up for the interview, Victoria’s Secret threw him out.
Realizing that with the imminent Apocalypse any new job will only be temporary, I urged Andy to sign with a temp agency. His first job is to fill in for a man on leave from Andy’s local Congressman’s office. The job is “Legislative Sanitation Aide” and requires that Andy have good spelling skills and be able to carry around a gallon jug of Purell to wipe down whatever and whoever his legislator boss has touched. The job may turn into permanent work because the regular Legislative Sanitation Aide is off work due to an upper respiratory infection, E-coli, oral herpes, and pinkeye.
One of my friends (whom I’ll call Mel) has his own unique program to greet the Apocalypse. Mel has secured a domain online—this is true— which celebrates the (soon-to-be outdated) joy of being alive. He plans to meet with business people and politicians to promote his idea of a national day celebrating all the happiness that humans take for granted.
“I call my domain ‘WWW.Worldorg.org.” he told me recently.
I thought “org.org” seemed redundant, but, Mel said, “the domain name reflects the source of much joy I’ve experience in the world and its universality.”
Mel’s first “org,” he explained, is for “orgasm.”
Apparently, when the Apocalypse shows, Mel will be too engrossed to notice it. For example, he won’t need any Triscuits.