I’m ruined! Panic spread over me like wildfire. It started as an ordinary drive home from work, but quickly turned into a panic attack.
Everything was as it should be as I left work tonight. The car started on one try. The radio was preset to the evening news. I was ready for the stock report. My stocks have been doing pretty well and I was anxious to hear how much more I had “earned” today.
I hadn’t made it to the first intersection when the news came over the airwaves. The numbers were spewing out like a torpedoed submarine: 75, 62, 55. My heart was pounding. I had plans for my retirement. No!
50. Maybe the mortgage will get paid by the time I’m 65. Maybe not.
47. Land. Yes, I have some land I could sell.
42. I hope my kids remember what a great dad I was when they were young.
35. Is it too late to have another kid? No! That’s crazy talk. They cost too much and I’m broke.
27. I start fumbling for my cell phone. There has to be a realtor in my address book. I have to get the house on the market ASAP.
19. I’m swerving all over the road and don’t care. So what if I die in a firey wreck? At least the insurance will keep my widow comfortable. What other alternative do I have? Ruined. Pennyless. Broke.
“And that’s a recap of the weather since Friday. A dramatic drop in temperature and a low tonight expected to be 19,” came from the radio.
My apologies to the old couple that I ran off the road and onto the railroad tracks. To the young mother with baby in car seat who swerved into the church parking lot to avoid me, again, sorry. Can’t do anything about the three cats I hit, but that could have been any drive home.
And to the weather man who prempted the stock report, if I find you, I will harm you.