So I was driving down the road the other day with my friend Russ, when we began discussing the pending collapse of civilization.
Relax, we’re not crazy. It was in relationship to a certain local congregation that is hell-bent on preparing for the end of the Western World and, as such, has more than its fair share of individuals equipped to live in a world without electricity, running water or modern medicine. But I came to a realization: the South, and many off those who live here, will be just fine.
Within weeks, the 85% of the male population that own a bass boat more valuable than their home will have found a niche industry providing fish for food. All the while, as the rest of us barter away what little possessions we have, the bass fishermen will sit back, a Cuban cigar dangling from their toothless mouths, and wag a gold-ringed fingerÂ at we who do not fish and say “See. I tol’ you so. That’ll be two gold Rolexes and a gallon of gasoline.”
It’s not that I’m ignorant. I’m as capable of growing things in the dirt as the next guy. (Well, maybe not.) But my idea of a Utopian paradise isn’t the Olduvai Gorge after living in space for three years. I’m much more of a “Give me a pool or a deck or a lake and wi-fi.” Even better, give me a Starbucks.
But the conversation with Russ left me wondering. How would I really fair when 2012 and the Mayan gods come back to kill us all? Will I be able to hack carving a meager yet happy existence Ego-wise from the top of some well-protected and completely self-contained little microsettlement? Or will I be more like the savage school kids in Lord of the Flies, forced to turn to a life of conch-controled pseudo-society brawls for what little bit in the way of nuts and berries some dead fat kid left hidden in his napsack?
Until that fateful day, I guess I’ll just have to be left to wonder…where the hell will I get my java fix?