Everything Is Fine

There is something reassuring about waking up in the morning, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, and spending the first few quiet minutes of the day discovering all the new and exciting ways civilization has apparently gone off the rails while you were sleeping.

Gas is expensive. Groceries are expensive. Housing is expensive. Insurance is expensive. Somewhere, another company has announced an exciting new artificial-intelligence initiative that will “streamline operations,” which is corporate language for, “Kevin, could you come into the conference room and bring your keycard?”

Meanwhile, various world leaders are moving military equipment around the planet with the enthusiasm of eight-year-olds rearranging plastic tanks on a bedroom floor. You slowly lower the phone and take another sip of coffee. Everything is fine...

This is perhaps the most important skill modern humans can develop: the ability to recognize that the world has become completely ridiculous without allowing it to take your sense of humor hostage. Because if reality is going to mug us in broad daylight, we should at least be allowed to make fun of its pants.

Grocery Shopping Is Now a Wealth-Building Exercise

There was a time when $100 at the grocery store meant you were buying groceries. Actual groceries. There would be meat. Vegetables. Cereal. Milk. Eggs. Maybe a frozen pizza, chips, soda, and a loaf of bread. You might even recklessly throw cookies into the cart without first consulting a financial adviser.

Today you walk into the supermarket with $100 and leave carrying two bags while wondering whether you accidentally dropped the other six in the parking lot. You didn’t. Those are the bags. Everything is fine...

The meat department has become particularly intimidating. You pick up a package of steaks. Look at the price. Put it down. Then you pick it back up because you clearly read it wrong. Nope. Thirty-seven dollars!

Now you’re studying the label. Grass-fed? Yes. Organic? Apparently. Humanely raised? Wonderful. But for $37, you need to answer a few more questions. Did this cow attend college? Was there a pension? Dental coverage? Did he summer in the Hamptons? Because I'm not paying $37 for three medium steaks unless this animal enjoyed an upper-middle-class upbringing and graduated magna cum laude from an accredited university.

Then there are eggs. Eggs used to be ingredients. Now they are portfolio assets. You don't casually crack six eggs into a frying pan anymore. That's reckless financial behavior. You use two. The rest remain diversified.

“We're holding four eggs long-term, moving three into bonds, and keeping two liquid in case the market turns.” Breakfast is no longer breakfast. It's wealth management with Michael Douglas from "Wall Street" hedging for you. But everything is fine...

Welcome to the Gas Station. Please Bring Collateral.

Then you need gasoline. You pull into the station, insert your card, and the pump politely asks whether you'd like regular, mid-grade, premium, or to discuss financing options. You choose regular and the numbers begin moving.

$18. $34. $51. The tank isn't even half full. $67. You begin watching more closely. $82. Now you're negotiating directly with the automobile.

“Listen, three-quarters of a tank is perfectly respectable.”

The vehicle says nothing. $91.

“You don't need to be full all the time. That's how entitlement starts.”

CLICK... You stare at the total. Then at the pump. Then at your truck. You half expect the receipt to say: THANK YOU. YOUR FIRST PAYMENT IS DUE OCTOBER 15.

Diesel drivers have it even worse. They're arriving with family valuables.

“Fill it.”

“Sir, this is a sterling-silver tea service.”

“It belonged to Grandma.”

“Are you sure?”

“Grandma would have wanted me to make it to Oklahoma.”

Everything is fine...

Home Sweet Financial Obligation

At least you have somewhere to live. Technically. Housing has reached the point where many people aren’t really tenants or homeowners anymore. We’re squatters who happen to receive monthly statements.

Rent increases arrive with wonderfully cheerful language.
“Dear Resident! We are excited to announce your new monthly rate!”

Excited? Nobody receiving this letter is excited, Brandon. My rent just increased $175. At what point do I receive voting rights? If I’m paying this much, I want a seat on the board. Maybe a small plaque in the lobby:

THIS ELEVATOR PARTIALLY FUNDED BY APARTMENT 3B.

Homeowners aren’t escaping either. Between mortgages, taxes, insurance, and repairs, owning a house sometimes feels less like property ownership and more like adopting a 200,000-pound dependent with plumbing problems.

The air conditioner makes a noise.

Immediately:
“Don’t.”
Another noise.
“I’m warning you.”
CLUNK.

You stare at the ceiling.
“YOU LIVE HERE FOR FREE.”

Everything is fine.

We'd Like You to Meet Clive

Then there’s employment.

Companies everywhere are discovering AI, and apparently every executive presentation now contains the phrase “unlocking productivity.” This is rarely followed by balloons.

Your manager calls a meeting.
“We’re restructuring.”
Never good.
“We’ve implemented a new AI productivity platform.”
Also not good.
“We’d like everyone to meet Clive.”

Computer:
“Good morning, Kevin.”

Kevin stares at the screen.
“Why does Clive know my name?”

Three weeks later, Kevin is gone. So is Accounting. There is only Clive. Kevin goes home and uses an AI program to improve his résumé so he can apply to another company whose AI program will screen his résumé for a position formerly occupied by someone who was replaced by another AI program.

Eventually the entire employment system will consist of computers submitting applications to one another while humans sit outside eating financially diversified eggs. Somewhere in the middle of this closed loop, LinkedIn achieves consciousness and immediately asks everyone if they’d like to upgrade to Premium. Everything is fine...

Meanwhile, On Planet Earth

And while we’re trying to afford a hamburger and keep Clive from learning Excel, world leaders occasionally decide this is an excellent time to move aircraft carriers, tanks, missiles, and enormous quantities of diesel fuel around. The average citizen watches this on television while standing beside a gas pump.

Military convoy rolls across screen.
Citizen looks at pump.
Looks back at convoy.
“Do they know what diesel costs?”

This is perhaps the strangest feature of modern life. The enormous and the ridiculous now happen simultaneously.

International tensions rise. The dog needs to poop. Markets tumble. The dishwasher won’t drain. Artificial intelligence transforms an industry. Somebody has left one tablespoon of milk in the carton so technically they didn’t finish it. Civilization may be confronting profound historical changes, but your neighbor is still outside at 7:14 Saturday morning with a leaf blower.

And perhaps that’s exactly why humor matters. Not because everything is secretly wonderful. Sometimes things are difficult. Sometimes they’re frightening. Sometimes they’re expensive, uncertain, unfair, or simply exhausting.

Laughter doesn’t fix any of that. But for a moment, the problem doesn’t get to own the entire room. Humans have always done this. We laugh in hospital waiting rooms. We tell jokes at funerals. Families somehow find something absurd during terrible weeks. People facing circumstances far beyond their control still occasionally look at one another and start laughing.

Not because nothing matters, but because sometimes everything matters so much that you need somewhere to put the pressure. And laughing opens the valve. So tomorrow morning we’ll get up again. Gas may cost more. The grocery receipt may require two signatures and a co-signer. The landlord may begin accepting kidneys. Clive may have been promoted to regional manager. Somewhere, two governments may decide that what the world really needs right now is several thousand tanks burning enough diesel to bankrupt Nebraska.

You may open the refrigerator and discover mustard, half a pickle, and something wrapped in aluminum foil that nobody remembers placing there. Don’t panic. There are still options. There is still hope. There is still ingenuity. And, if absolutely everything else fails… Don’t worry, folks. There is always roadkill!

Tomorrow morning, pour the coffee. Sit somewhere quiet. Listen to the birds. For perhaps thirty glorious seconds, civilization will seem perfectly manageable. Then your phone will buzz.

"BREAKING NEWS---"

Turn it face down. Take another sip.

“Nope.”

Civilization can crumble after coffee. And somewhere down the road, a possum cautiously approaches the pavement.

You narrow your eyes.

“Steady, Gerald... We may need you.”