A half century following the terror of Russian ballistic missiles reaching the United States from Cuba we’re being spooked that a half-pint punk from North Korean will direct his Radio Shack missiles at Hawaii.
I would’ve found this suggestion laughable until January 13, 2018 when a Hawaiian worker manning their early-warning alert system pushed the wrong button during a shift change, signaling a ballistic missile was heading toward Hawaii. For a half hour people panicked and prayed before the error was corrected. I still don’t see how they came to the conclusion the missiles came from North Korea if none were really detected, but I hear that diminutive asshole in Korea is laughing it up about the error and panic he caused. How’d you like an atomic wedgy to help you reach your hi-chair at the big boy table, ya slant-eyed toadstool? You’d fudge your pampers at the first sign of an American retaliation.
I wouldn’t have given this story more than a passing chuckle, but my wife and I had just returned from a vacation on Maui the week prior to this error. A week later, and this scare could have put a serious hamper on our day of sun bathing. No, I’m not one’na those who screams: “I could’ve been killed!” over a close call that really wasn’t, but the error did give me pause to run through the: what ifs? What would I do if I knew we only had minutes to live? Thinking about these circumstances, I know I wouldn’t have done much. The sirens went off at eight in the morning. I’ve heard the Hawaiian early-warning sirens for tsunamis before. They sound like the Mainland sirens for tornadoes with their testicles in a vise grip; squeaky and uninspiring. It would not have woken me from my vacationing sleep on a Saturday morning. Even had my wife pulled me from bed, I don’t know what we’d have done. Our third-story condo offers no protection from a nuclear blast. We could’ve stayed in bed, together in the end. My option probably would have been to grab the beer from the frig, and celebrate the end of life with a sarcastic bend to kiss my ass goodbye.
We received more of a scare on the evening of January 16th while watching Purdue beat the snot out of Wisconsin in men’s basketball. No the game wasn’t even close. Purdue won by a landslide, but around eight, we were startled by a loud boom which shook the house. A news alert following the game said that a meteor had exploded in the upper atmosphere some twenty miles northwest of our house, causing a 2.0 magnitude earthquake. While I’ve lived through worse earthquakes in Mexico City, this seemed scarier. This was shit falling randomly from the sky as if we’d pissed off God. There’s no preparing for God’s wrath.
The conclusions I’ve reached following these scares, real or imagined, is to keep living life the same way I always have. You have to. Life throws shit at ya from every direction, so you have to do the best with what you have while you have it. Learn to laugh, and don’t sweat the little shit.