Say you finally found the time and money to go to Hawaii. It is a beautiful day. Slight ocean breeze. Swaying palm trees. Smoke from Kilauea Volcano languidly wafting into the sky. The aroma of a whole hog slowly roasting in a pit of sand while poi is being prepared by graceful hula dancers. A Mai Tai with a tiny umbrella calling your name as you lift the coconut shell to your lips. Life is good. Then, just as you finish your Mai Tai and head to the first tee you are accosted by a cacophony of blaring shrieks from every electronic device within earshot:
“BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
Now you have a dilemma. You have already spent more money on airline tickets than you paid for your first car. A round of golf, paid in advance and unrefundable, cost more than the birth of your first child. You have schlepped your heavy golf clubs from Indiana to “an island sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean”.
You bought new golf shoes and enough $5.00 golf balls to lose one on each of the 18 holes. Your plaid shorts and black socks with little tassels look super cool with your flowered golf shirt.
You think to yourself, “Self, what should we do?” Options are cascading through your brain. Take cover. Dig a hole next to the luau pit and pull it over you. Run to the beach and hope the water doesn’t boil you alive. Find a basement not leaking full of seeping water. Curse. Pray. Beg. Scream.
After much negotiation with the gods over the unfortunately miasmic circumstances you make your decision:
“Well, at least the golf course is now devoid of other people. I think I might as well tee off and when the round is over, if I am still alive, follow the advice my drill instructor gave in Air Force Basic Training to prepare for a nuclear attack:
‘Put a chair in the middle of the room, bend over and kiss ….!’”
Oh, by the way, after 38 minutes an announcement came out, “Just kidding, someone pushed the wrong button”.