The Banality of Doom: Prepare for Tuesday, Not Doomsday

I was at the DMV when it happened.

The guy in line next to me smirked. It looked like he was about to crack a joke, maybe say something about my N95 mask.

Then he collapsed.

I helped him up. He gripped my arm and heaved himself to his feet. A desperate terror flooded his face. I asked him if he was okay. He said nothing. Once he was upright, he fell again and started writhing. My mind did this bizarre thing. Time slowed down, but it also sped up. As I gripped my phone, I briefly looked up and surveyed the room. I was doing what I’ve written about so many times, briefly seeking social approval before I dialed. Everyone else was just…

Standing there.

One guy rolled his eyes at me. “Let the professionals handle it.”

I thought, what professionals?

Where?

The only professionals I saw were desk jockeys, and a security guard who wore the confused fear disturbingly absent from everyone else. When that guy rolled his eyes and chided me, it took days to decipher what he meant. He honestly seemed to be suggesting I shouldn’t try to help someone up if they fall down next to me in line. He seemed to be suggesting that everyone else was right to simply stand there and pretend it wasn’t happening.

At least to me, the DMV has always felt like the last place on earth where anything remotely interesting would ever happen—good, bad, or otherwise. It emanates the exact kind of dull, tedious, oddly reassuring vibe that everything will keep going exactly as it always has been, no matter what happens. And of course, for everyone except that one guy writhing on the floor…

It did.