scottsemegran.com

Simple question. "If you hate this job so much, why are you still here?"

"I have no fucking idea!  I really don't!  Like it would be better somewhere else, huh?"

Exactly.  Like it would be better somewhere else.  I worked for three different restaurants in the past year and I hated each one with a passion.  Slinging food to the swines that came into those places bred a misanthropic hatred that was dangerous.  Extremely dangerous!  But I discovered quickly that I was one of many who flocked to this type of work.  A haven for what seemed like lost souls or, to put it more plainly, misguided creative types.  I was only one of millions caught in the trap, caught in the cycle of daily cash and short work days, caught in high stress and low self-esteem, engulfed in an environment of service and self-destruction.  I thought that I needed it.  I thought it fueled my creative fire, to say the least.  It did more than that.  My entire world caught fire.

I filled the coffee machine hopper with coffee, poured the water in the reservoir, and turned the machine on. I woke up a little earlier than usual and fought the urge to try to go back to sleep. So I got up, making sure not to wake the kids, and headed downstairs. After five minutes of staring into space, I snapped out of it while the coffee machine wheezed and hissed and dripped the last of its fresh batch into the carafe. I poured myself a cup and walked to the front of the house, peeling open the curtains and standing in the window, sipping my coffee.

I was mulling a list of chores through my head, things to do around the house. Looking at the lawn through the window, I knew I was going to have to bust out some lawn equipment in the next couple of hours and manicure the shaggy grass. I knew I was going to have to cut down some dead bushes in the backyard. I knew I was going to have to do a number of other mundane tasks on my mental chores list. I knew this. But I continued to sip my coffee slowly and didn't move.

My daughters and I walked to the mailbox with hurried optimism. Sophia, my 6-year-old, ran in front, the mailbox key clinking on the keychain she grasped tightly in her little hand. My 8-year-old, Mia, held my hand and smiled at me while we walked.

"Do you think they'll be there, daddy?" Mia asked.

"I have a good feeling they will be."

"I sure hope so, daddy."

"Me too."

Sophia was already around the corner and running full-throttle for the mailbox, her little fists pumping, her little feet scurrying.

"Sophia is excited too, daddy."

"I can see that."

At the mailbox, Sophia inserted the key and opened the door. Plunging her hand in the mailbox, she pulled out a smallish cardboard box and placed it on the ground. She marveled at it like it was a treasure chest, an ancient lockbox filled with valuable things. Mia knelt next to it, placing her ear on top, closing her eyes as she listened.

"Do you think they know where they are?" Mia asked me.

I read a book recently called Apocalypse 2012: An Optimist Investigates the End of Civilization. The author, Lawrence E. Joseph, digs into the numerous theories and predictions that seem to all point to the year 2012 as the "big year." Something surely is going to happen in 2012, whether it is a catastrophe or an explosion or an intergalactic collision or something. Why the year 2012? Because, for the love of God, all the smarty pants throughout history reference that year in their visions for the end of the world; it's that simple. Is it really THAT simple? Well, no. But is it creepy that 2012 keeps popping up? Hell yes! Queue the iPod. We're going to party like its 1999! I better start stockpiling cases of beer and cartons of cigarettes in my garage.

Check this out. The ancient Mayans were some pretty observant people. By just sitting on a hill and watching the night skies obsessively, they calculated an extremely accurate calendar that has predicted all major intergalactic events. What does 2012 mean to them? The end of the world and a new beginning. What else? The sun has been farting out solar flares more than any time in the last 11,000 years. Solar physicists believe it will peak in (you guessed it) 2012 and microwave our planet. Russian geniuses believe our solar system has entered an interstellar energy cloud that threatens to destabilize our sun. When do they think catastrophe will affect us? Somewhere between 2010 and 2020. Is 2012 in there somewhere? Christianity, the I Ching, and Hindu theology have all been interpreted by someone who believes 2012 is the end of time. The sky is falling! Several physicists believe we're overdue for a major catastrophe like the one that evaporated the dinosaurs. And the supervolcano under Yellowstone National Park is due for a major eruption which could result in the death of ninety percent of the world's population. WTF?! This book was really making an effort to ruin my day. Did somebody say "Miller Time?"

The annual Easter visit to church has come and gone, an occasion that creates a huge uproar then dissipates quickly, like a fart blown away by a gust of wind. This tradition doesn't seem to me to be more relevant to my spiritual self than sitting alone for a few minutes and reflecting / praying in peace. But no matter, I helped pretty-up my daughters and the family drove off to church and we did the required standing-room only visit. I witnessed a couple of teenagers faint, the priest dousing the congregation with a torrential amount of holy water, and small children smashing their boogers on their friends' Easter dresses and sport coats. Hurray for Easter!

My youngest became restless with all of the standing around, so we headed outside so she could play. And while I watched her run around and throw rocks, my family and I noticed a sign at the corner of the building. The sign read, "God Does Not Allow Skateboards Here." Ha! Oh really? 'Hmmm,' I thought. 'Is God really concerned about skateboards on church property? There are surely more important things for God to be concerned about, right?' I immediately came to the conclusion that God would not be worried about a recreational sport, something that will illicit happiness and joy in teenagers, as well as keep them in good shape. What this sign was REALLY trying to say was that some grumpy, old people found skateboards to be annoying. And rather than place a sign that read, "Old People Do Not Want Skateboards Here," they decided to use the fear of God as a deterrent for having fun.