Appendix 2: Apocalypse Diner

No one has ever Yelped about this place and it is almost invisible on the web. Indeed, if it weren't for a few inspection violations (none too serious-looking), I would think we had dreamed the whole thing: a little greek diner with psychological problems and decent food in Virginia Beach.

It was May 21, 2011, according to some the day the Rapture was to happen. We were wandering around Atlantic Avenue looking for some humble fare. My husband and I are not attracted by the usual touristy all-you-can-eat joints and somehow we stumbled into this tiny Greek diner with decor circa 1962 located off a parking lot pertaining to a 1 star motel on Atlantic Avenue. What possessed us?

We were seated by an anxious, eager to please waitress who seemed as self-conscious as we were that there was no one else there. Sometimes a kind of tractor beam keeps you in a place that you would otherwise just walk right out of, like empty restaurants and poorly-attended plays. Maybe we stayed out of pity. Or maybe we stayed because it was 5:30 and, according to the news and the signs on Rapture vans out on the avenue, we were scheduled for the end of the world at 6:00.

We asked for sweet tea and the waitress said they had none. And then almost as quickly she got a determined look on her face and said, "No, I'll FIND you some! Yes, I will!" We were afraid for her, running around town looking for sweet tea this close to the Rapture. But she said she'd get some. Somewhere. She promised.

I ordered a greek vegetable salad, no lettuce, no green peppers, and some tzatziki, The tzatziki was creamy and good, and it came with some lovely hot flatbreads like little fried pancakes. When I finished the bread, another plate was quickly brought without me having to ask. The salad was fantastic, featuring a lot of cubes of the most delicious tomato I have eaten since childhood and some really tasty feta cheese.

My husband received three, thin-cut pork chops, a piping hot side of french fries, and a pile of salad as fresh as mine.

The place was an amazing people-watching experience, kind of like being in the Diner at the End of the Universe. The decor was unconsciously retro. Various local characters starting walking in and out like actors in a play:  a skinny man sang a verse of a song I didn't recognize, laughed at himself, and left. An older woman customer sat sipping a mixed drink at the counter, and when another customer wandered in looking lost, she got up and seated him and gave him a menu because our waitress (the only waitress) happened to be busy. Perhaps she was still hunting around for some other hard-to-find beverages.

We ordered the pie.

I figured this was a place local weirdos went to hide from the tourists.  I was sure it would disappear the second we walked out of it. I think we were overcharged. But at 28 bucks for two we couldn't complain. After all, 6 o'clock passed and we were still alive.

By the Sea, By the Sea, By the Beautiful Sea

FF and I have decided to greet The End of Days in a lovely cool, green and blue penthouse hotel suite overlooking the sparkling Atlantic Ocean in Virginia Beach. This morning, sunshine poured through the glass curtains in the living room, and we rose early. We intend to sit in the nice deck chairs on the balcony tomorrow and wait for raptured souls to pop up out of the ocean like champagne corks.

In the parking garage across from the hotel, we saw a silver PT Cruiser with neat signs in the back window indicating Saturday, May 21 as the date of the Rapture and a web address to which one could refer for more information. We also noticed they had fishing poles on the roof rack. Apparently, if you fear you might not be raptured, fishing poles are good to have so that you can feed yourself and your family until October when the whole Earth will be destroyed.

Personally, if the whole Earth is going to be destroyed, I think it's a bit late for me to take up fishing.

But a lot of people apparently want to survive for those last five months: In bunkers deep in the Arizona desert, or here in Virginia fishing on the beach casting a line with one hand, while fighting off the less prepared with the other. There will surely be those who didn't go to the web site who will want to eat your food after all the supermarkets are looted. Well, I am in awe of the Survivalist spirit of stubborn resistance to the fiery chimera they have conjured up themselves!

Armageddon can be fun!

The eagerness for an imagined end to all things, expressed so publicly and at such great expense not only of money but eventually of credibility and reputation, is something we should all take a good look at. No one can say these folks aren't sincere: Some have sold their homes and quit their jobs though, as FF remarked, being raptured seems like the best excuse ever for taking a sick day.

Why the enthusiasm for imagining us all wiped out, and why such great investment in money and effort in surviving in the aftermath?

When little children are tired of a game, their instinct is to knock all the blocks down, boom! Or sweep all the piece off the game-board, whoosh! Could it be that many Americans are just tired of the game they are playing and have decided that mass destruction by an unseen Deity would be the best way to finish it all off and start a newer, better game?

In a land where Free Will and Liberty are supposedly the bedrock of our body politic and our much-heralded "way of life", it seems clear to me that many people don't want to be free at all. For the best take on this, check out Erich Fromm's Escape from Freedom, which is in my opinion the most careful analysis ever of the lemming aspect of human nature. People want to follow, and are terribly disturbed by the thought that "winning the game" (that is, fixing society's ills, improving our human condition, achieving personal fulfillment) will require the kind of work and dedication that they simply haven't got the heart or attention span for. Much better to just start over! Better to just wipe the board clean! Harold Camping, the main "prophet" of this dark scenario, is pretty old now: Perhaps this current End of Times hysteria is simply the extremely powerful projection of Mr. Camping's own ennui and end of life depression?

In my last post about the assassination of Osama Bin Laden, I wrote about the Death Pill that Americans seem so eager to take, and I will continue to ponder and write about the morbidity that permeates our culture. Because I wish it were not so. I wish America were happier. Because happy people don't imagine destructive, horrifying scenarios, and don't cheer when people are shot in the head, or get hot and bothered about a number of ugly scenarios that are common content in our popular culture. And yet Death is one of the favorite hobbies of Americans, both in life and on-screen, closely followed by pain, violence, misery and aggression. Why are Americans so unhappy? And how can we get happier?

I promise to think about this, but not today. Today it is sunny, and the glittering ocean calls us away from our seventh floor balcony and bids us to play in the sun! FF and I might go to Pocahontas Pancake and Waffle House for breakfast and then lie by the pool for a little while. We will go to the soft, sandy beach, I will make a sand castle by the sea and, when I am bored with that, I will watch the waves wash my castle all away into the big, wide ocean. And then we'll have a nice nap.