Here’s what gives me nightmares: picture a high security lab, somewhere deep inside the bowels of the earth. Inside a sealed box in a clean room sits an open jar of the last known surviving sample of the deadliest virus in existence. A cute young scientist with pink hair reaches her hands into the protective rubber sleeves, and then slowly picks up the lid—once this lid is securely tightened, the sample will be disposed of, and humanity will finally be safe from this virulent scourge. There is a slight rasp as the lid is screwed on the jar, and the other scientists behind her let out their collective breath in relief.
“Open the door,” one says to the girl with the fuchsia hair; obligingly she hops up and swings open the heavy door between the clean room and the control room. As she does, one of the rubber gloves knocks against the jar of the deadly virus, which topples over. The lid, only loosely secured, springs off, letting the virus into the air.
Twenty eight days later, and we’re all zombies.
Yeah, that’s the thought that keeps me up at night. Why? Because, in my vision, the technician is always Clementine. And, as anyone who knows Clementine can tell you, she has never, ever successfully put a lid back on anything. Ever.
Reach for a bottle of sparkling water in my house and the first thing you notice is that the lid is only perched lightly—jauntily, really—on top of the neck. The second thing you notice, of course, is that the sparkling water has lost its sparkle.
The same can be said of gallons of milk, jars of pickles, tubs of cream cheese—anything, in fact, that has a lid. The worst part is that she’s actually doing better: she used to throw the lids on the floor after she opened something, like a bridegroom with a bottle of tequila at his bachelor party. Now at least she gets them in the right area, even if she hasn’t actually mastered the art of actually putting them all the way on.
Unfortunately, though, I think that’s as far as she will ever go, because, according to her, she truly is tightening the lid. The fact that there is salsa running out the fridge door after she puts it away is just a coincidence: she certainly tightened it all the way. Yes, she is positive about that.
Which brings me back to my zombie nightmare.
I’m sure you’re thinking, well, why would someone with lid issues end up working in a clean lab in the first place? But really, isn’t that the way these things always work out? Doesn’t the kid who could never master the fine art of toast-making end up being the one who goes to culinary school? And doesn’t the kid who always callously stepped over their bleeding siblings to grab the remote end up going into medicine?
And so, following that logic, it only makes sense that Clementine will one day seek out a job that will involve her successfully putting the lids back onto jars every single time, because, in her whole life, that is the thing she is worst at. So, like the future doctor and chef, it’s kind of inevitable.
Unfortunately for the rest of us, however, while it’s true that an unsuccessful chef or doctor also has the power to kill us, they can only kill us in small numbers. Clementine the Scientist, however, will have the potential to take us all out someday. The way I see it, we have about twenty years to save ourselves: twenty years to convince her to change her ways, and finally learn how to tighten a lid, or it will be the end of life as we know it.
Actually, this might be a good time to take up smoking.