by Simon Rich
To Sam
From Laura
Sam, hi! This is crazy, but the Dunkin Donuts burned to the ground! Do you want to meet at Last Call for happy hour?
Sam sat on the foot of his bed, sighing heavily with relief.
To Laura
From Sam
On my way!
Sam’s stomach growled audibly. He’d been too nervous to eat breakfast or lunch and now there wasn’t time to eat dinner. He checked his hair in the mirror, ran out the door, and trotted down the street to Last Call.
He ran inside the bar and scanned the room for Laura, but she hadn’t arrived yet. There was nothing to do but wait. He sat down at a table near the back, then quickly moved to another, concerned that the first one was located too close to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he noticed that his new table was slightly sticky. He moved again.
“Oh, man,” Vince said. “He’s freaking out.”
“Why’d he get there so early?” Eliza said.
She typed Laura’s name into Omnex. The female was still taking a shower.
“Look at how much Sam’s sweating,” Craig said. “At this rate, he’ll have a full-fledged panic attack before she even shows.”
“Hey, look,” Vince said. “He’s finally going to the bar.”
He watched hopefully as the human flipped through the cocktail menu.
“He’d better order something stiff.”
EARTH—FIVE AND A HALF HOURS UNTIL DOOMSDAY
“I’ll try the Lemondrop,” Sam said.
The bearded bartender glared at him with undisguised contempt.
“The Lemondrop?”
Sam smiled apologetically. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
The bartender reached beneath the counter and pulled out a dusty leather-bound book. After a few minutes of searching, he located the recipe.
“Sorry if it’s a hard one!” Sam said.
The bartender ignored him and poured some lemon juice into a blender. Then he added simple syrup, and three maraschino cherries. He was carefully adding the gin when the nozzle fell off of his Seagram’s bottle.
“Shit,” he said. “Good gin wasted.”
He squinted at Sam. “Hope you don’t mind a double.”
“Of course not!” Sam replied, trying his best not to be rude. “Thank you!”
“Nice one,” Vince said. “How much of that sweet stuff do you think made it in there?”
Craig zoomed in on Sam’s cocktail and analyzed its chemical makeup.
“Three ounces of gin,” he declared.
Vince and Eliza applauded.
“On an empty stomach, too,” Craig noted.
The cubicle suddenly fell silent—Laura had finally arrived. The Angels watched with rapt attention as the humans hugged and laughed, prattling on about their boring days.
“I can’t believe she’s still wearing those awful jeans,” Eliza whispered. “Doesn’t she have any self-respect at all?”
“Her ass looks like a spider’s web,” Vince said.
“Quiet,” Craig said. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
He turned up the volume as loud as it would go.
EARTH—TWO AND A HALF HOURS UNTIL DOOMSDAY
“Wait,” Sam said. “So people think you’re a radio station?”
Laura nodded. “101.1 FM.”
“And you give away fake prizes?”
“I know I should stop. It’s just…when they get their prizes, they’re always so excited. They laugh and scream.” She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I guess sometimes it’s nice to feel like you have the power to make someone happy.” She peered up at Sam self-consciously. “Is that crazy?”
“No,” Sam said, thinking of the pleasure he felt when he handed his drunken boss lottery tickets. “I think I know what you mean.”
She smiled at him and he felt a brief sense of calm. But within a few seconds, his anxiety returned in full force, like a tidal wave returning to the shore. She’d finished her beer, he noticed, but hadn’t yet ordered a second one. Did that mean she was bored with him and gearing up to leave? She probably had a party to go to or something.
“Wow, look at the time!” he said, awkwardly giving her an out. “I can’t believe how long we’ve been sitting here.”
Laura’s eyes widened with panic. “Do you have to be somewhere?”
“No!” he said, frantically. “No—I don’t have any plans.”
He chewed his lower lip, struggling to regain his composure. “What about you?”
“No,” she said, blushing. “This is all I’ve got.”
“Two more hours!” Brian chanted.
He was wearing a colorful party hat and holding a bag of kazoos. He pulled out a handful and tossed them into Craig’s cubicle.
“You guys want to do body shots with me?” he asked.
Craig shook his head. “We’re busy.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you at the party.”
Eliza glared at him. “What party?”
“The End of the World party! We’re going to watch demolition in the break room.”
He blew his kazoo. “Do you think he’ll use fire or ice? Someone in Accounts started a pool.”
“I don’t know,” Vince muttered.
“Yeah, I don’t really care myself. It’s going to be a pretty sick explosion either way.”
The Angels glared at Brian as he lurched toward the break room. When he opened the door, a blast of music blared across the office. It sounded like Lynyrd Skynyrd.
“Is God at that party?” Eliza asked.
“Probably,” Vince said.
“Let’s just focus,” Craig urged them. “We’re running out of time.”
He swiveled toward the screen and gasped in panic.
“Oh no,” he said. “Oh, crap.”
“What?” Eliza demanded. “What’s wrong?”
Craig shook his head in misery. “I think Sam’s about to dance.”
EARTH—NINETY MINUTES UNTIL DOOMSDAY
Sam rocked unsteadily to his feet, nearly spilling his fourth Lemondrop of the evening.
“I can’t believe you picked Ace of Base!” he shouted. “They’re, like, my all-time favorite group!”
Laura beamed. “Really? You like them?”
“I love them!”
He wobbled toward the jukebox and began to move to the music, thrusting out his groin in time with the beat. He gyrated for a minute, clapping his hands at random intervals. When the song reached the chorus, he spun around in a tight circle, pointing and winking at imaginary people.
“I saw the sign,” he sang atonally. “It opened up my eyes, I saw the sign!”
“I’m going to start a fire,” Craig said.
“You can’t!” Eliza protested. “The kitchen’s full of workers—they’ll be engulfed in flames!”
“I don’t care who dies,” Craig said. “This needs to stop right now.”
Eliza faced the screen. Sam was punching the air with his fists now, shaking his hips in time with the music. Every few beats, he stretched out his palm and playfully slapped his buttocks.
“You’re right,” she muttered.
Craig grabbed the keyboard and typed in a fire code, pressurizing the oven past capacity. It was about to burst into flames when Vince grabbed his elbow.
“Wait!” He pointed at the screen. “Look.”
The Angels realized with shock that Laura had joined Sam on the dance floor. Her palms were stretched to the ceiling in a “raise the roof” pose, and her head was shaking spastically to the beat.
“Holy shit,” Eliza said. “She’s just as bad as he is.”
They leaned back in their chairs and watched with amazement as the humans circled one another, mirroring each other’s terrible movements. Their dancing was flawed in all the same ways. And even though neither could follow the song’s rhythm, their limbs twitched in time with each other’s.
When the final chorus began, Laura mimed a microphone with her fist and
held it up to Sam’s face. He grabbed her wrist and sang terribly into her fingers. The song ended and they burst into laughter, oblivious to the stares of the regulars and the bartender’s sarcastic applause.
“Want to get out of here?” Laura asked breathlessly.
Sam’s smile faded and the blood drained from his face. “Okay,” he said.
She headed for the door, and he followed her out into the night.
Craig turned to his colleagues, his eyelids twitching with anxiety.
“What do we do now?” Eliza asked.
“We watch,” he said.
A large crashing noise rang out from the break room, followed by a rowdy cheer. “Sweet Home Alabama” was playing on a continuous loop, and whenever the opening guitar riff sounded, the entire party burst into uproarious applause.
“Everybody get naked!” Brian was chanting, his voice somewhat hoarse from screaming. “Naked!”
Craig opened a new window and typed in a search for God’s prophet, Raoul. He found him at a Taco Bell in Flushing. He was sitting alone at a booth, staring at an enormous pile of food. He’d bought over a dozen tacos, along with a family-size tub of nachos, and some kind of chocolate gordita. The Angels watched as the prophet took his Timex off his wrist. He placed the watch beside his soda, reached for a plastic fork, and calmly began to eat.
“Oh my God,” Eliza whispered. “Is he…?”
Craig nodded. “He’s having his last meal.”
Craig zoomed out from the Taco Bell, and then from Flushing, and then New York until the continent began to take shape: the jagged Eastern Seaboard, the murky ocean, the hazy wisp of atmosphere overhead. Soon they could see the entire planet, a bluish ball, splotched with green, studded with shimmering cities.
Craig clicked his mouse, zooming in tight on the Lower East Side. The humans had just left Last Call. It was 11:06 p.m.
“Come on,” he whispered at the screen. “Come on, you guys. Don’t blow it.”
EARTH—FIFTY-FOUR MINUTES UNTIL DOOMSDAY
Sam and Laura stood outside Last Call, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.
“I usually go this way,” Sam said. “What about you?”
“Same,” she lied.
“Great!” Sam said, a little too loudly. “That’s great!”
They moved slowly down the avenue, staying about two arms’ lengths apart. Sam realized with terror that they were already at Delancey Street. If he was going to kiss her, he’d have to do it in the next three blocks.
“I’m glad it stopped snowing,” he said.
Laura laughed as if he had made a joke. “Me too!”
They came to a halt at a traffic stop. It occurred to Sam that this was a perfect opportunity to make his move, but just then the light turned green. They trudged on wearily through the night.
Laura reached into her pocket for some mints and realized with panic that she’d left them at the bar. Her breath was almost certainly terrible.
Sam was also thinking about his breath. There was a pack of gum inside his coat. But in which pocket? He was debating whether or not to search for it when he realized they were already at his apartment.
“Is this your place?” Laura asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said, pointing stupidly at the number on his awning. “Ninety-three Ludlow!”
He could feel a few cold drops of sweat stabbing through the pores in his armpits. Before going out, he had made his bed for the first time in weeks, on the off chance that he might somehow convince Laura to come back to his apartment. He couldn’t face that bed alone, with its absurdly folded blanket and painstakingly fluffed pillows. It would be too much to bear. He had to at least kiss her, or he would never forgive himself. The conditions were perfect: a breeze in the air, a moon overhead—there was no excuse to fail.
But then he thought about how drunk he was and wondered if he was imagining things. What if Laura’s flirtatious grin was merely a polite smile? What if he swooped in for a kiss and she started to laugh—or recoiled in disgust! If the kiss was unwanted, she could technically charge him with assault. That was unlikely, he realized, but fully within her rights as a woman. It didn’t seem worth the risk.
“Well, hey,” he stalled. “It was really cool hanging out with you.”
“Yeah,” Laura said. “I had a great time.”
She thought about grabbing his face and pulling it down to hers, but she’d never done anything like that before. Besides, it was increasingly clear he wasn’t interested in her. If he were, he would have made a move by now.
“So,” she said, “I guess…I’ll see ya?”
“Yeah!” he said. “Yeah…I’ll see ya.”
They shook hands stiffly and went their separate ways. They were both disappointed, but only slightly. After all, it was just one night. They’d have other chances. It wasn’t the end of the world.
Craig stared numbly at the screen as the humans parted ways. Vince patted him on the shoulder and rose to his feet.
“Well, fellas,” he said. “It was nice working with you.”
“Where are you going?” Eliza asked him.
“The party,” Vince said. “It sounds like a real rager.”
He took off his pants and headed for the break room.
Eliza sat in her swivel chair and sidled up to Craig.
“There’s still forty minutes left,” she told him. “That’s enough time to try something.”
Craig shook his head, his eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s hopeless.”
Eliza raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
Craig shrugged. “Me neither.”
She was about to squeeze his shoulder when a crashing noise distracted her.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Look.”
She pointed down the hall. God was wobbling out of the bathroom, trying to find his way back to the party. Craig averted his eyes; he was in no mood for a conversation with his boss. But the old man quickly spotted him and came over to say hello.
“Big day tomorrow!” he said. “You as jazzed as I am?”
Craig nodded wearily.
“We’re starting a restaurant,” God proudly told Eliza.
“I’ve heard,” she said.
“Let’s see what you guys are working on,” God mumbled, throwing his arms around them for support.
“Oh!” he said, peering at the screen. “That thing.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Why do you guys work so hard? What’s that about?”
Eliza shrugged. “We like doing it.”
God smiled, genuinely moved.
“You know what?” he said. “You’re good people.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Eliza said. “We got into heaven, right?”
God squinted at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
Eliza shrugged. “Just, you know, you picked us to get into heaven. So we must be good people.”
God laughed. “That’s not what it’s based on.”
“It’s not?”
“Nah.”
“So…what is it?” Craig asked. “What’re the criteria?”
“You guys don’t know?”
“Just tell us,” Eliza said.
God smiled. “It’s rock skipping.”
Craig and Eliza nodded, waiting for God to elaborate. But he didn’t seem to think he needed to.
“What are you talking about?” Craig asked eventually.
“You’ve got to get seven skips,” God explained. “On any one throw.”
Eliza turned pale. “That’s it? Just skip a rock seven times and you’re in? That’s all?”
“What do you mean, ‘that’s all’?” God said. “Rock skipping is hard. Almost no one gets to seven skips.”
“Seven skips,” Craig repeated in a dazed monotone. “Unbelievable.”
“Well, for women it’s five,” God said. “You know, so it’s fair. They’ve got weaker arms.”
Craig shook his head, stunned. “Why d
idn’t you base it on something important?”
God stared at him blankly. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like, righteousness? Or courage, or faith…”
“I thought about making it something like that,” God said. “But those things are too hard to measure. Like, how can you tell how righteous someone is? It’s not something you can just add up. With rock skipping, though, you can be like, ‘Hey, that was four skips.’ Or ‘That was eight skips.’ It works.”
“What about disabled people?” Eliza asked. “They’re just fucked?”
God shook his head. “Wheelchair people can skip rocks,” he said. “Maybe it’s a little harder for them to get leverage, but I’ve seen some make it work.”
“What about landlocked people?” Craig asked. “People who live in places without water—like Nepal or New Mexico?”
God thought about that for a moment.
“They’re fucked,” he admitted.
In the distance, the opening chords of “Free Bird” blared through a giant loudspeaker.
“Oh, man!” he said. “That’s my jam. I gotta go.”
He bounded toward the break room.
“See you at Sola, Greg!”
Craig and Eliza didn’t speak for a few minutes. Eventually, their silence was interrupted by a beeping sound.
Eliza smiled bitterly.
“Look,” she said, pointing at Craig’s monitor. “A Potential Miracle in Miami.”
Craig did not respond.
“Hey, listen,” she said. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. But at least you tried. That took real confidence.”
Craig started to thank her, but the words got caught in his throat.
“Well, anyway,” she said. “It was really nice working with you.”
She awkwardly thrust out her hand; he shook it.
Craig watched in silence as she packed her bag and headed toward the elevators. Then he turned back toward his computer. He was about to turn it off when he stopped himself. There was still about half an hour left. He might as well enjoy it.