In a couple of weeks, we are having an eclipse. A full, stars come out in the daytime, drama queen of an eclipse, and we’ve been advised to prepare for it the way we’d prepare for a blizzard. Well, in a stock-up on groceries and other necessaries kind of way, not necessarily a haul out the galoshes and space heaters kind of a way.
You see, we’re expecting company.
To the tune of 90,000 outsiders.
Yup. In my little town.
And no, I think it’s fairly safe to say that we do not have 90,000 hotel rooms. I’m not even sure we have 1,000 hotel rooms. It sounds like Woodstock, except nobody’s getting paid for the crops they trample, or the litter they drop. And by the way, shop now, so that when “they” invade, you’ll still be able to eat.
And get your prescriptions.
And by the way… uhm… toilets… toilets… there was discussion of water pressure, and toilets, and traffic.
I’m envisioning the streets lined with porta-potties, gawking tourists, and tonnes and tonnes of loose garbage. And most of all, I’m envisioning crowds.
Let’s be honest. If I liked crowds, I’d probably live someplace urban. Like, ya know… Times Square on New Years’ or the Tokyo subway. So, I’ll probably have to hole up in my doomsday shelter, and watch the eclipse from my back yard. You know… behind the no-trespassing signs and the electrified fence? And maybe dodging whatever science-world geek celebrities the eclipse drags in. (Rumors vary, of course.)
I’d better wind up with a funnel cake.