Yesterday I went to the druggists at a little before midnight. It is at or after midnight, I find, when you are really apt to meet the most interesting people; but I was after a bottle of NyQuil (which, Dear Reader, is the only medicine you need) and willing to take the chance.
So it was as I paid for my purchase that the clerk, where usually one says "Good evening" or "Thank-you for your patronage" or "Happy Kwanza", said instead, "Save the world!".
I was surprised by it.
On the appearance of the fellow, I might have thought he meant something about dolphins and tunafish or plastic bottles and baby seals or braided hemp jewellery, but when one is in the market for NyQuil at midnight one is also almost always ill-disposed to making argument on the relative uselessness of hugging trees.
I opted instead to suppose that by world he meant saeculum. It just seemed easier.
But realizing I was quite without a plan for saving this debauched age of ours and not wanting to seem argumentative, I was reluctant to say that considering the state of things, his whole project seemed pretty useless.
So I said, in a cold-induced fog according to the manner of a Grateful Dead fan, "Give me time, Brother".
Grinning, he nodded slowly and repeatedly like a bobble-head doll as he exhaled “yeah”. Apparently he mistook me for a co-conspirator. At any rate I question the prudence of employing such a one in a pharmacy.
Looking back, I ought to have given him a rosary. Faced daily with such technoligical wonders as NyQuil, we forget how simple the really effective, heaven-preferred methods are.
Save the world. Pray the Rosary.