We drape ourselves in cotton made on other continents and between sips of our coffee, our beer, we speak in measured thoughts about the complexities of the latest noteworthy tragedy.
We glance at our phones before conceding that, “Yes, what’s happened is devastating, but no, no, we aren’t surprised. How could we be given the political climate. Or the other climate.” Either way, sadly, from where we sit, with this coffee, this beer, this phone, we saw it coming.
And just as we’re on the verge of really getting depressed, or rallying the will to write a facebook post, we remember our parking meter is running out, or that we have lunch plans and there will be traffic. But of course the nice thing about tragedies is they don’t demand our undivided attention. No, human tragedies are more like an episode of The Big Bang Theory. We can tune in with no previous knowledge of Sheldon or Ferguson or Palestine, and a short segment later we can bring our informed opinion to tomorrow’s Meeting of the Minds, at the Keurig machine at work.
Attendance is not required, but the right thing to do is to trot over, sigh, throw our hands up and defeatedly announce, “Justice was miscarried.”
But before the solemn nods, and before we can reach for our pod of French Roast, Paul, who we all know to be a dick, will say, “I didn’t know Justice was pregnant! Zing!”
Someone wonders aloud if Justice would have to be the baby, not the mother in that scenario, but by then we’ve all moved on. We’re back to our desks to ponder the Greek economy over Greek yogurt.