It also reminded me a track from my lovely new 3-CD collection of “Beyond the Fringe”, in which Peter Cook is giving a very proper old-colonialist explanation of what to do in the event of the four-minute warning being given. Over here, it was always expected that we’d have four minutes before the missiles hit.
Basically Mr Cook said “Now, some of you may feel that four minutes isn’t an awfully long time… well, I would remind you that some people in this great country of ours can run a mile in four minutes…”
There is a guy who lives a few miles away from me with whom, for a number of reasons, I’ve never been able to be in a relationship with, although I would give just about anything to do so. I think he feels similarily towards me, so I’d find him and see if he needed a little company in his last minutes.
30:00–Insist that the broadcaster was joking
29:45–Wonder why the hell they were aiming a nuke at Valparaiso, Indiana. Maybe they don’t like popcorn…?
29:14–Attempt to call boyfriend. If the phone doesn’t work, use Ethernet connection to get a hold of him via AIM.
From here, it varies. If I can get hold of my SO, I will spend the time talking to him. However, since he’s far away…we wouldn’t be together. If I couldn’t get hold of him, I’d still look online, see who else was on. I’d write him an email. I’d say goodbye to my friends online. Email is wonderful…
If that didn’t work…I wouldn’t go around having sex. It would be meaningless. I wouldn’t get high, because I see the end of the world as something to be sober for.
I’d put on the Sex Pistols’ “Nevermind the Bollocks…”, sit in the window here, and watch everything from the third floor. And I’d make tea, close my eyes, and hope that there is an afterlife.
Because, really, at that point, that’s all I could do.
Can’t get to my sweeties in 30 minutes? Not a problem, I’ll see them in 31.
Put some music on (Toccata and Fugue in D Minor by J.S.Bach, followed by Crazy on You by Heart). Pray, of course, but mostly in thanksgiving. Keep repeating the traditional thing a Muslim says on his way to Mecca (I am Christian, but I say it on my way to taking the Eucharist, because it seems to fit) ‘Labayka’. Meaning (sez Malcom X) “Here I come, Lord!”
All this assumes I do what I want, not what I might. What I might do is cry like a baby and piss my pants in fear.
30 minutes huh? Well, in order of importance I would…
Get beer. A lot of beer. Like, a metric shitload of beer. And, if possible, whiskey.
Rapidly consume the beer and (hopefully) whiskey.
Make my way to the nearby Dodge dealership, steal their showroom Viper, and floor it down the highway until the bomb blast caught up with me. Oh, and if possible during or between any of these steps, I’d probably try to make with the meaningless sex, but that’s not really anything outside of my usual course of action anyway…
Gah. This thread is making me very sad. I’m 10,000 miles or so away from the man I love so obviously in 30 minutes I’d have no chance in hell of getting to him. And if it happened during work I’d be screwed - there’s no way to use the computers there to connect to the internet to send an e-mail!
At work we’d be in the tornado shelters - pointless, I know, but I’d rather die from rubble than die from exploding glass, y’know? I’d sit there with the journal I’ve been writing him (and that never leaves my side) and read over all the things I wrote about how much I loved him. I’d hope he’d take the news okay. I’d stare at the tiny photo album I have full of pictures of us together, and cry. And get angry. And I’d do it all mostly alone because I don’t know anyone at work.
If I was at home I’d spend those 30 minutes writing him the most poignant e-mail possible, reminding him that I love him and begging him not to forget that even though I am no longer on the earth, I would be in his heart forever. I’d stare at pictures of him, and pretend I was in his arms. I’d try to contact my parents and other family members and apologise for anything I’d ever done to hurt them. I’d cuddle my giant stuffed wombat, and cry. And get angry. And I’d do it all mostly alone.
Damn. Now I’m depressed and crying. Thankfully the Cold War is over and the Magnavox plant is no longer in Fort Wayne IN. (Local legend - no idea if it’s true or not - states that the city was 4th on the Russians’ list of Cities To Nuke because of said Magnavox plant.) But the thought of never ever ever seeing him again is really sobering … and the thought of how much pain he’d experience because he couldn’t hold me one last time … gah!
Thirty minutes to Doomsday? No phones (and therefore for me, no Net, and no contact with distant friends or family)?
If at home:
Take my sketchbook, leave the apartment, walk the two blocks or so to the Humber River, and find some nice leafy overlook where I could watch the crystal towers of Toronto fall. Weep.
If in a bus between home and work:
Give thanks to that beautiful French woman on the bus, that I enjoyed our talk last Friday, even though I’m aware that she’s uninterested in me and prefers her boyfriend (who also rides the same bus and works in the same building as me. Wait for the bus to come to a stop, and get out. Hug the ground. Weep.
If at work:
Go outside, into the field across the road. Find a tree. Hug said tree, and cackle insanely that I don’t have to finish the project I’m working on.
[sub]Yes, Armageddon would be a relief from work.[/sub]
