Trying to Convince a Depressed Climate Scientist to Go Clubbing

Hey man. How are the polar bears treating you? I hear that. Those bears are a bunch of sorry bastards. And what’s that? Sea levels are up another centimeter? That sucks.
Listen, what are you doing tonight? Any interest in hitting the club?
Don’t laugh. I’m dead serious, dude. It’s time we hung out, and I don’t want to hear any lame-ass excuses. Yeah, I know you got your research. Yeah, I know human civilization is at stake. Don’t tell me you’re planning to spend your Saturday night looking at melting glaciers again?
You need a break from all this apocalypse. Your life is like a Charlton Heston movie. For real, you need to put down the damn spread sheets, drink a beer, and talk to some women wearing yoga pants.
Here is the plan, my man. First, you come over my place. We’ll do a little pre-gaming, drink some of these new craft brews I picked up. They taste like a pumpkin mixed with the inside of a middle school. They’ll take your head right off.
So we’ll drink our drink, maybe scroll through Tinder and see what’s popping. Wait, what’s that? You’re not on Tinder? Hold the phone. What do you mean it’ll make you more depressed? All this doom and gloom. Can’t you just watch some cat videos on YouTube to cheer yourself up?
Seriously, I know climate change is a bummer. But if the world falls apart, we’ll just live in a subway tunnel, right? We’ll roll like mole people. No worries. You’re acting like human civilization is some awesome thing. But you know what? It’s not all Michelangelo and moon missions. Human civilization has also given us fish sticks. Are fish sticks worth fighting for? If the ocean turns into a dead zone full of plastic and dead dolphins, at least we won’t have to eat fish sticks anymore.
So where was I? Right. Pre-gaming. Yeah, we’ll get trashed and head down to the club. It’s called Nitro. This place is hot. It’s so hot it’s on fire. Wait, what? No, not like a forest fire. Jesus Christ, does it ever end with you?
The club is super popular, so we’ll wait in a long line at the door and pay a ridiculous cover charge. Then we’ll wait in a long line at the bar and pay a ridiculous amount for two Coors Lights. Then we’ll stand in a corner and awkwardly stare at everyone, while the DJ plays music that makes you want to put a nail gun to your head.
Yeah, Club Nitro. This place is hot, man. Wait, what? You’re not feeling it? OK. I get it. You’re not big on the clubs. I feel that. What would you like to do instead? How about bowling? We’ll head down to the Bowl-A-Rama. We’ll get a bucket of beer, roll some balls, and hit on the middle-aged women. Ring a ding ding.
Hold up. I’m sensing some hesitation. You got a problem with bowling, too? OK, it’s time to get real. Listen, I really respect what you do. Straight up. You’re dealing with dying bumblebees and fish washed up on beaches and sad-ass polar bears. You’re seeing all this insanity, and you know what can be done to make it better, but yet no one listens to you … actually, it sounds a lot like being married.
But tonight, you’re going out. End of discussion. So where was I? Bowling, right? Get this. After rolling balls and striking out with the middle-aged women, we’ll grab an Uber and … no, we can’t ride a bicycle. I’m not riding a bicycle from the bowling alley. Who does that? Will you forget about your carbon footprint for one freakin’ minute?
So we’ll take an Uber, and we’ll hit up the IHOP. Drunks got to get their grub on, right? We’ll have the cook rustle up a couple of Rooty Tooties, and we’ll eat like kings. Yeah, two hammered kings ready to throw up on our pancakes at any moment.
Hello? Can you hear me? You there?

A writer and editor living in the Boston area, John Crawford can be found on Twitter, @crawfordwriter, where he tweets semi-amusing and very depressing missives about climate change.

Categories: Fiction

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Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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