As the tension in our world builds and builds, we seem to be getting closer to the day when we’ll want to succumb to one of our most powerful emotions: panic. There’s a bunch of excellent panic-inducers stacked up on the runway these days, awaiting their turn to inspire millions to run amok in the streets with screaming abandon. There are diseases (SARS, Ebola), terrorists (evil deeds), insane garbage (plutonium, overwhelming sewage), hostilities from outer space (asteroid hassles, evil aliens), desperate politicos (various) and bizarre DNA experiments gone awry (Keith Richards).
But we all know damned well that our political leaders will never tell us when to panic, even when panic is the appropriate response. That’s understandable. It must be very difficult for a governor or president to do—to admit that you and your cohorts have so utterly failed that the best thing for citizens to do is to simply freak out.
That’s why it’s time for the People’s Panickometer, a handy, independent mood guide for these apocalyptic times placed on the front page of the newspaper, conveying its message by symbols much like Bob Grimm’s happy/sad popcorn boxes.
Stage One: Comfortably Numb. Our natural state of sleepy madness, depicted by a man snoozing in a hammock. All is calm, all is bright.
Stage Two: Whatwazzat? The man in the hammock now has his head up, and he’s looking around. This stage occurs when a strange, new lethal disease appears, when we invade a country, or when Marilyn Manson releases a new CD. We’re currently in this stage.
Stage Three: Uh-oh. The little man is staring at the tube. This stage kicks in when a major terrorist attack takes place, or when Dr. Evil breaks into a national newscast to demand $1 million, or else. At this point, citizens are expected to watch a lot of TV.
Stage Four: Mommy! The little man is pushing a shopping cart, loading up on tuna, water and duct tape. This level kicks in when the head honcho from Centers for Disease Control drops dead during a press conference on the new killer disease, when all Christians leave their bodies due to the Rapture, or when the Stones announce their next farewell tour.
Stage Five: Holy Shit! The little man, now wild-eyed, has both hands on his head and very bad hair. We hit stage five when cyber-terrorists hack into everybody’s bank accounts, when giant dinosaurs attack, or when Al Qaida announces it now controls El Niño.
Stage Six: The Darwin Shuffle. Our little man is now running down the street, arms outstretched, in full, unabashed panic. Triggered by alien spacecraft hovering ominously over major cities, a huge asteroid plowing into Oklahoma, or a mad scientist unleashing an epidemic of sterility flu.
Stage Seven: Adios MoFo! The little man is now running naked and his head’s on fire. Activated when the Anti-Christ (who turns out to be an American businessman) declares, “It’s nuclear winter time!” and presses a very, very bad button.