Life in the Apocolypse

I shuffle into the kitchen and press a button on the water dispenser. Clean, filtered water pours out in exactly the right amount. It stops with a pleasant ding, filling my cup to just below the brim. While the water is pouring into my cup, I empty the dehumidifier into the sink. Ah, nothing like multitasking while I wait for my water to pour itself.

I get an email from my job saying that work has been pushed back to the 31st of March. Yay. Vacation. I guess.

After that, it’s time to vacuum. I unplug the cordless vacuum from its charger and get to work. I move the air purifier and suck up the dust caught underneath. The dust comes back every day. So do the chores.

In order to keep the air breathable in my mostly underground apartment, I have no less than three appliances running nearly 24–7. A dehumidifier in the laundry room. An air purifier in the kitchen. A fan in the bathroom and another at the door to aid in mold reduction. There is still mold growing on the walls in 3 out of 3 rooms in the apartment.

Appliances are nice. Technology has helped. But it would be nice if instead, I could open the damn windows every once in a while. I still haven’t figured out a way to thank our neighbor for letting her little-shit dog leave his little shits right outside our bedroom window…

Shit, I realize I’ve run out of trash bags. Time to go to the store. I grab my purse, jacket, facemask, and sunglasses, then head to the nearest bodega. The street is empty. In fact, the whole city is pretty quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. Usually, I would try to enjoy the walk, but the sky is still gray and the atmosphere is gloomy.

When I arrive at the store, the clerk is also wearing a mask. There is no one else there. Just him and I. I buy the essentials. The clerk is extra curt with me today. I used to try to avoid his awkward banter and repeat questions about where I am from, do I live around here, and how I like the neighborhood. “New York, and yeah. So cool, everyone wants to visit.”

Now, I almost kind of miss it. I smile when he hands me the bag and realize immediately that there was no point in doing so with a mask covering 80% of my face. Smile wasted.

As soon as I’m out of the store, I strip off the mask and breathe. Yeah, I know, I’m not supposed to do this. But, after China shut down its factories, the air is unusually clean. I noticed it first a few days back, after the rain. Then, I stood outside in a sliver of sunlight, the only sunlight I had seen in months, and cried.

I used to not open the windows because of the yellow dust. I used to wear this mask because of the air pollution. Now, there is a new threat in town: The end of the world as we know it.

No, this is not a post-apocalyptic dystopian future. This is now. There are fewer and fewer people left every day, yet we carry on as if nothing has changed.

When I get back home I wash my hands as soon as I step inside, barely making it through the door before I toss my bags on the ground and rush to the sink. There is a sign taped to the door of our apartment that reads: “No outside guests allowed,” in thick red letters.

This is just one of the many rules we have all decided to ignore.

Why? Because, let’s face it: Life really doesn’t care about the apocalypse, it keeps on happening in spite of it. Maybe it’s resilience, maybe it’s stupidity. For better or for worse, we’ll all find out in the end, whenever that may be.

We know it's soon, but most of us don't see the point in worrying about when anymore. This is the new normal.

I get a message from my friend inviting me out for drinks. We know, we know, it’s not safe. Still, somehow, she has convinced a group of seven of us to meet up in the middle of the city, in one of the most popular neighborhoods for nightlife... Well, at least it used to be one of the most popular neighborhoods, before. Now it's a hollow shell of what it once was. A ghost of its former self, just like the rest of us.

It shouldn’t be all that surprising, but when I show up– the restaurant is packed. She had to make reservations in order to secure our spot. We all get to talking about anything and everything over a dinner of American, southern-style BBQ, except for the end of the world.

“He’s been saying they're planning on having a kid.”

This comment draws eyes. Yeah, it is surprising at a time like this. Probably foolish. But that doesn't stop my friend from yapping on about her ex-coworker’s baby plans.

“They'll be regretting it when they can't get a hospital bed.” Someone snorts from the end of the table.

“I used to think that way too– But now I think it's better to just get it over with while there are still resources," My friend adds to smooth over the budding tension.

We exit the restaurant and walk in a pack to the next bar. No reason not to keep drinking. No one has worked, not for a long time. Not now.

My friend comments about all the dirty looks we were getting. We all agreed that maybe we should be more careful in public conversation from now on. With perfectly poetic timing, a man staggers past us, clutching his chest and coughing. The punctuation to end our conversation, no one likes being reminded of the apocalypse.

We walk in silence to the next bar. The toilet trashcans still overflow with used tissues. Short-staffed. We all know this isn’t going away anytime soon, but we drink to forget about it for the time being.

Later that night, we dance and talk conspiracy theories. There is something freeing about all this nihilism. Here we are in the middle of it all, choosing to not give in to fear, trying to make the best of the unexpected end.

In truth, we are all still scared. In truth, I am not sure how many more times I can circle my tiny apartment without losing my mind. But there is one thing we all can agree on: We are lucky. We are alive, for now.

And here we thought it would be the cigarettes, the booze, the air pollution, the junk food, or the mold, that would kill us all. Maybe they will still get their chance. Until then, the only thing I can do is enjoy the clean air while no one is looking, socialize when allowed, and watch as the rest of the world melts into a slow panic.

The next day I clean the apartment from top to bottom, again. We all thought this day would never come, but here it is. The end of the world. And all I can do is go on living, because, one day, I won’t.

Until that day when death shows up on my doorstep with a bottle of whiskey and says “Hey kid, let’s party,” I have decided to make the most of it while I still can.