Popcorn for the Apocalypse
Nothing different. That is exactly what I would do if the world’s end was supposedly near. That was my response to the Y2K panic and The Rapture, so if anything, I am consistent.
It’s been twelve years since Dick Clark welcomed us to the 2000’s. Twelve years since hysterical people bought generators and canned goods by the bomb shelter load, convinced that the computers of the world would grind to a halt, leaving us in the dark and hungry for beans and Parmalat.
They holed up, while I partied like it was 1999 (because it was), and I would bet those same people are still in hiding, convinced that we above-grounders are just telling them everything is fine to trick them out of their MREs. Though I should consider keeping a stash of those at the office. It’s got to be better than what I scavenge from the vending machine.
As I write this, we just passed the first anniversary of The Rapture – the first prediction, not the second which was scheduled for five months later that Harold Camping officially called “The Rapture For Realsies.”
It was a beautiful May day, so I made a point of ironically enjoying a spicy crock of chili and legitimately enjoying a Cuba Libre, all al fresco, positioned to be entertained by the sight of my good neighbors ascending into the great blue yonder. Not that I believed it was going to happen, but if I was wrong, I had good seats. I sat there, chewing and sipping, and unsurprised that not one person achieved lift-off, which either meant Judgment Day was not upon us, or not one person in Philadelphia was worthy of getting their wings.
How about the prediction of the Maya? It seems we are to be doomed this very December! Now, I love those zany ancient mesoamericans as much as anyone, but let’s take a look at the facts. With even the laziest googling, or a visit to snopes, anyone can educate themselves to learn The Maya had no intention of Chicken Little-ing into the future.
In short, one day, during their long-count calendar making peyote party they happened to reach December 2012 when they got all “Hey man, what was I saying?” and “Hey man, you got anything to eat?” that maize slipped from someone’s grasp into the fire and voilà, a discovery to distract them to discontinuance. So, let’s thank the Maya for making our movie experiences delicious, and let’s not get nervous over an ancient case of the munchies.
So let’s just say I entertain the hypothetical of how I would handle my hourglass running out of sand. Okay… again I come up with the same answer – nothing different, mainly because I am lucky. Except for a few lean years in my early 20s, and a short time through my divorce, which during I referred to it as “the end of days,” I have not wanted for anything necessary, yet I am still the person who reuses paper towels if I have only just dried my soap scrubbed hands. Just to think of recklessly blowing all that I’ve earned and saved for the infinitesimal possibility the world might end soon would leave my sensibilities emptier than the way I leave a tube of toothpaste.
Is my life perfect? No, but I am happy, and I have just about everything I want except enough time to work-out and have a boyfriend. To be honest, if the apocalypse approacheth, I would be more likely to drink a six pack than carve one out of my abs, and if I ever thought an earth shattering catastrophe would lead to a boyfriend, I would have started my own campaign long ago.
Polly Math is a blogger and writer living Philadelphia. Photo via (http://bit.ly/Uf6SXx)