Yesterday, I thought I had been admitted for early acceptance to The Rapture. I literally had the day from Hell. My day at work was one of the worst I could remember. That being said, I was looking forward to my friends coming over to jam. I have a little band that gets together every few weeks. They play guitar and I play drums. We relax, drink some beer, and generally have a great time. We were really cooking last night. Everyone sounded great. It was getting late so we broke and headed upstairs for our usual coffee and sweets. As we were drinking coffee, one of my friends says he’s not feeling well. He turns white as a ghost and then gets violently ill. A few underlying medical conditions cause us to take him to the emergency room. They whisk him in for triage and evaluation, and we have a seat in the waiting room.
As soon as we settled in, a smartly dressed young couple comes running up to the desk. She is holding a bottle of water on her cheek and screaming hysterically at the top of her lungs. The boyfriend explains that they were in the car and she accidently sprayed herself with MACE. She thought it was perfume. I’m thinking that this sounds a bit odd. I mean, who plays with MACE? Really! As it turns out, the MACE was in a small, pink container that could have been mistaken for perfume. I don’t know about you, but I want my can of MACE clearly marked. I don’t want to mistakenly spray an assailant with perfume. “Can you describe your attacker?” “Yes officer, he was 5’10’’, a hundred-eighty pounds and smells like Juicy Couture.”
Sitting in the waiting room, I realize that I am surrounded by people who are having one of the worst days in their lives too! In rolls a guy suffering from a severe asthma attack. That can’t be pleasant. A young boy is treated for a broken finger. Ouch! Some lady is completely covered in blood. I don’t even want to contemplate how that happened. It looks like there is some sort of cosmic convergence of people having incredibly bad days on the day before The Rapture.
They decide to keep my friend overnight. We go home and crash. I wake up and, well, everything is as it should be. The birds are chirping, the dog is snoring and my knee still aches. Normal. The Rapture did not happen. Harold Camping, the minister who started all of this, apparently made a math error in his calculations—easy enough for an eighty-nine year old to hit the wrong key on a calculator. I call my friend and he’s fine. Extreme exhaustion coupled with dehydration. Good news! I vow to take each day as it comes, not dwell on the bad and be thankful for what I have. Besides, I have lots of plans.
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