This whole Ebola thing has gotten me thinking. My first thought was something along the lines of how not to get it in the first place. And then I began to come into contact with some of the loonies who shared my first thought, which lead, inevitably, to my somewhat less optimistic second thought, which was “Maybe I’d rather be dead.”
If the compulsive hand washers, silverware sterilizers, disposable cup carriers, and surgical mask wearers will be the folks left on Earth after this pandemic runs its course, I would rather be killed by the Ebola. Really. I would not be able to deal with the disappearance of all the normal people — the slackers, the poor planners, the slovenly. My people.
I would have to hope that a few other, “fly by the seat of your pants”, types would also have been inexplicably spared. Finding them would, of course, have to become my post-pandemic life’s work. Of course it’s possible that we’ll just find each other, naturally. Like being attracted to like as it were.
I cannot for a minute imagine living in a world where I might be forced to interact with, befriend people even, who would invite me over to admire the cleanliness of, say, their toilet bowls. Braggarts! I tend to avoid these people now — like the plague. (A phrase that will no doubt morph into “like Ebola” if the doomsday predictors are correct in their assessment of this supervirus.) I am suspicious of folks who can boast that their home is “so clean we can eat off the floor”! Wasn’t it to arrest such behavior (and, I suspect, to create a place to throw junk mail) the sole reason some forward thinking human invented the table to begin with?
Not knowing his (or her) name is bad enough. I’m sure fashioning that first table was fraught with difficulty for “Table Guy”, though. Why further dishonor him by eating off of something that isn’t a table?
While it might be nice to be around and to participate in the reinvention of the world following the near decimation of the human race, I fear that those who had survived as a result of taking the proper precautions would not be a group that would welcome me and my people, let alone actually listen to our ideas for setting up a new world order.
Frankly, I already don’t like these people — The Superior Survivors, as I’ve come to think of them. It’s not likely that they would be related to the folks who allowed the name of “Table Guy” to pass out of history, but I can’t help but blame them — and resent them for it — just the same.
I can envision how it would play out between us. Me, and people like me, a population who had managed to avoid the virus because we used the down time caused by the epidemic to catch up on some much needed sleep or to (finally!) scratch “War and Peace” off of our reading lists and not, as The Superior Survivors had done, engaged in more purposeful, more useful pursuits — pursuits that no doubt included copious amounts of cleaning with bleach and toothbrushes — would probably be relegated to serving the coffee. Or worse, making it.
I’ve already had that life. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just succumb to the virus. Let someone else serve the coffee.