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The Nearest Exit Is Right Behind You
We thought we would grow old together
I’m on a plane, eating a bread roll and watching season two of Mad Men, when I realize that this is, objectively, The Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Me In My Life. I can’t remember what The Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Me In My Life was before this, but it’s now The Second Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Me In My Life. Third, if we’re counting toxic masculinity on TV. Fourth, if we’re counting the bread roll.
The Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Me In My Life was, technically, a car crash. Legally, it was pneumonia. Honestly, though, it’s this phone call. As someone who’s really bad at texting, I don’t mind phone calls — I just think people should text me first. My sister doesn’t, which would count as The Second Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Me In My Life, but I forgive her already. None of us really know how to respond to The Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Us In Our Lives because, you know, it’s never happened before.
I know before I answer. This is the only reason I actually answer and don’t just text “busy will call in 10” and go back to watching Don Draper project his identity crisis onto the women he sleeps with. People always say they know before they know, and it sounds all romantic and convenient as if it’s a positive personality trait that we can predict death. People always say lots of things. But I know, and, to be honest, I would much rather predict telemarketers.
I know because of the time. If you think about it, The Worst Thing To Ever Happen To You In Your Life can’t happen when bad things usually happen — it won’t be at midnight or during morning traffic because that’s honestly, like, so overdone. For example, The Worst Thing To Ever Happen To Me In My Life is happening right now at 3 p.m. on a Sunday. You know what else happens at 3 p.m. on a Sunday? Nothing. It’s like the Super Bowl halftime slot for The Worst Things. 3 p.m. on a Sunday is entirely forgettable, strictly reserved for the meaningless activities of sleeping, tweeting, and wallowing in the anxiety that tomorrow is Monday. But my sister is calling me at 3 p.m. on a Sunday without texting first, and I know.
I copy the screenshots of texts to my external hard drive. But I don’t have his…
