When I was living in Australia, I heard about a girl who stepped on an old land mine while traveling through Indonesia. The blast threw her back, and to get better medical help, she was flown to Australia. Once she was patched up, she decided to continue her adventure by exploring northern Australia. Be sure to follow the road signs, she was warned. Ignoring them in Indonesia had gotten her blown up. Ignoring signs in Australia would most likely have her drive over a cliff and into a pit of human-eating spiders. Two days later, she totaled her car, driving into a stream that turned into a river. After being saved and losing her car, she decided to make the most of her trip by joining a tour. This way, no car would be required. At the Mary River, the campers were told to keep their distance from the shores of the body of water with the highest density of crocodiles Down Under. She decided it would be fun to go skinny-dipping with some sexy 16-foot salties and was eaten.
In 2002, I was training to become an adventure tour guide in the Outback. As part of the training, I had to learn basic first aid and how to treat spider bites and snakebites in a country teeming with animals dead set on killing you. The whole experience had me a bit spooked, and I asked my boss what would happen if someone were to die on my watch. He told me the story about the girl with the land mine and the car crash and the crocodile. "What's the moral of the story?" he asked.
"Make sure people are actually listening and don't just read signs but understand the gravity of them?" I said.
"No, d—-head!" he yelled back. "When it's your time to go, it's your time to go. So don't worry about it."
How perfectly Australian.
I think about crocodile girl whenever something terrible seems inevitable. Even if you escape the land mine and the car crash, eventually a dinosaur will eat you for breakfast. Recently, the inevitable came in the shape of the flu.
My family had missed the first round of flu, which knocked out half of my kids' classes and left administrators wondering whether the schools should be closed until further notice. We had missed the second round — when a sudden change in weather left everyone wheezing — too. But as we drove back from our spring break, we couldn't ignore our itchy throats and runny noses. The flu had finally clenched us in its jaw.
Out of everyone in my family of four, I had it the worst. I couldn't work. I couldn't breathe. My brain was too thinky to fog. All I wanted to do was sleep.
My husband stepped up, the way you do when your spouse is sick. He let me sleep in, getting the kids ready and taking them to school without help. He encouraged me to go to bed early. There was just one thing I was not allowed to sleep through. Months ago, my husband had bought tickets to an Of Montreal concert. He had seen them play a year prior and desperately wanted to take me to a show. He explained that they are fun and theatrical, meaning I would actually like this band that he's a fan of. We couldn't miss it.
I chugged DayQuil and was alert for the opening act, but by the time Of Montreal came on, the folks working the venue took such pity on my clearly devolving state that they allowed me to go to a restricted area to the side of the stage just so I could sit down.
We watched the stage from these prime seats. As my fever spiked, I felt delirious. I have a tendency to hallucinate when I have a fever. Pulling on my husband's jacket, I said, "I think I need to go home. I see aliens onstage." He laughed: "They are onstage!"
Oh.
A couple of songs later, I zipped up the jacket. "Feel my forehead. I see monsters onstage."
"Isn't it great?" he replied.
I gave him a glazed smile. At least I knew this wasn't a fever dream. He was right; this weird band was totally up my alley. I just totally wasn't healthy enough to enjoy it.
"The crocodile is my favorite," I said.
Apparently, there was no crocodile onstage. He took me home. When it's your time to go, it's your time to go.
Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.
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