When I go places, sometimes I worry that I'm going to die.
Not die in the abstract “someday we’re all going to die,” but in the concrete oh my god I think I am about to die right here in this buffet line.
And when I have these thoughts I get very anxious, because buffet lines are awkward places to die in. You have to worry about falling into the food which will make everyone upset because they kinda maybe wanted to try some of that and then come back later to get more if they liked it but who’s kidding who even if it’s not very good you can eat an unlimited quantity of it so you’ll eat it anyway even if it’s only okay.
And then if you manage to miss the food with your corpse you’re still on the floor and then people have to step over you or around you and you know this will mean restricted access to the omelette bar or the carving station or the chocolate fountain or whatever part of the buffet was the part that people actually came for. You ate all that other food to make the caterers feel good about themselves.
So now the line’s backed up while the janitor tries to roll your body under a table until the paramedics can get there, which is only going to make the situation worse. Pretty soon, one person dying in the middle of a buffet becomes this whole big thing. It’s at this point that I think about how frustrated people are going to be and how they’ll complain later about the guy who had the indecency to drop dead just as they were about to get seconds on the roast beef.
It’s almost enough to make you not want to leave the house. Or hide under a blanket with a tissue. In black and white. As a woman.
So when I’m in public thinking that I’m about to die, I feel tremendous pressure to just hurry up and get home so that I can die someplace out of everyone's way because lord knows I don't want to be that guy who ruined a perfectly good outing with his untimely death.
(Incidentally, the last time I had thoughts like this, I was in spin class. Spin class is designed to make you feel like your death is imminent. If not from the intensity of the workout, then from the feeling of the bike seat, which I liken to receiving a prostate exam from an Audi.)
(Also, none of this is true. I have long wanted to be exactly that guy who ruins a perfectly good outing for lots and lots of people with my untimely death. Since I'm a writing teacher, dying in public may be the only thing people remember me for.)