Glossing Over the End Times

This last week a former intern at my work emailed me and some other coworkers asking for a brief phone interview. This person was an intern over two years ago, and wanted to talk about the impact her work as an intern had on our organization, what ripple effects her work had produced. I figured I could flim-flam enough hokum to satiate her ego. Little did I know that she would end up changing the direction of my final days on this earth.

During our phone conversation, the former intern told me about her new career path as a freelance longterm public relations specialist. In her words she said, “I want to inspire others to strive for happiness because if you look at all of the violence and negativity in the world it’s clear that we’re in the End Times and I hope to alleviate the pain of that. Part of why I’m reaching out is how my time and work as an intern has impacted your organization and . . .”

Hold on, what? You can’t gloss over the End Times. You can’t casually sprinkle the apocalypse into a conversation then move on to further business. It’s the End Times! That automatically becomes the subject of the conversation. I don’t want to chit chat about nonsense you did over the summer when you weren’t old enough to drink. It’s Arma-goddamn-geddon!

If you really believed we were in the verge of biblical rapture, why would you be wasting your time getting quotes about your internship from two years ago? I know there’s a personal experience fallacy, but if I thought I was about to either be raptured or swallowed after being scooped up in the hellacious maw of the Devil’s mandible, the last thing I’d be doing is padding my resume.

Sure, let’s keep pretending that we’re about to enter paradise, or that we/a significant portion of people you know, are about to experience eternal torment. Yeah, by all means, let’s talk about your future plans–WHAT ARE WE DOING WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.

The aftermath of Nibiru. “End” by artist Vadim Sadovski

After hanging up I assumed she was an overly optimistic and woefully inefficient street preacher, but then I heard afterwards about a rogue planet Nibiru that was going to slam into Earth on Saturday, thought about two man-babies with access to nuclear weapons and the baker’s dozen hurricanes pummeling us, earthquakes and global warming, and thought the intern was onto something.

 

Of course after learning about the proof of the End Times, I liquidated all of my bank accounts, used the funds to buy precious metals, and euthanized my child because I couldn’t allow and facilitate  her enduring the ceaseless torture of a supposedly loving god who has unleashed His wrath upon those whose arbitrary minor transgressions trapped them on an Earth ravaged by His petulance.

Some of the money I used to ride rollercoasters until I got sick (literally what I would do if I thought the world was ending). Then I tested heroin. Enemies were punished. Friends, exalted. It was a busy couple of days.

Then the world did not end. Which makes things real awkward for me. Don’t listen to deranged former interns.

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12 Comments

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  1. Next time the Rapture is imminent, you should just send all your money to me. I’ll take care of it for you while you are undoubtedly in heaven.

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  2. You DID tell her that her impact included your getting a blog post out of her question, right?

    The alien anthropologists in the year 3000 are going to really get a laugh out of this post.

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  3. I know that’s a lot to ask, but upon referencing the End Times, I would have liked to have seen you make a detailed account in which you directly attributed the End Times as a sort of snowball effect that resulted from her work there as an intern.

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  4. You got a boat? David was hoping for a boat on Saturday. No Dice. The poor man is devastated. Oh well, maybe next rapture.

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  5. My ex-husband became a Ba’hai a couple of years before we got divorced. He did it for the attention factor. Ba’hais believe we’re in the end times. X can experience the end whenever he wants (he won’t be missed; in fact, I doubt if anyone will notice he’s gone) as long as he leaves enough money in his checking account so I receive my alimony checks from the fat bastard. But now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, I agree with you that if he really believes we’re in the end times, then why isn’t he whooping it up and refusing to send my checks? What can a judge do to him when it’s not The Ultimate Judge?

    Love,
    Janie

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  6. Ha! I definitely assumed that this post was going to be about the world (not) ending on Saturday. Oh well, maybe next prophecy.

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  7. Nothing like priorities for the End Times. I can’t wait until they come again.

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  8. That young optimistic-fatalistic former intern turned you onto heroin? I hope you got good stuff.

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