The worst tragedies are the ones that arise from laziness. Controller too far away? End up watching Jersey Shore for 5 hours. No more Ramen in the kitchen? Eat leftovers for dinner. Homework piling up? Go through every Justin Bieber video on YouTube. Laziness catastrophes happen every day. They happen to anyone and everyone, from the tire salesman down the street to the President of the United States, and they can strike at any time, like death or a slow metabolism. However, they can also produce wonderful stories that will impress your friends at dinner parties and give you material for that novel you’re convinced you’re going to write. If you exert your lethargy in public and get caught red-handed in an embarrassing mistake as a result, that makes your adventures in lazy-land even more enthralling. And because I want you all to write best-selling novels that you can show off at your future high school reunions, I will share my own “caught in the act” tale to serve as an example for all you future J.K. Rowlings.
Step 1: Go out in a rainstorm.
If you’re going to venture into public to complete your lazastrophe (lazy catastrophe felt important enough to have its own word), you might as well give yourself a boost by travelling in the rain. That way, when you get to wherever you’re going, you won’t be tempted to leave, even for essential materials (we’ll get to that in a second). Going outside when the sky is free of cloud-acne is useless and will only get you a nice tan and normalcy. There goes your dinner party hook.
Step 2: Forget your supplies.
When you have a final art project due at the end of the week like I did and it requires scissors and glue to complete, be sure to forget the scissors and glue back in your room 5 minutes away. When you remember the hazardous weather outside, there’s no way you’ll be going back to get what you need, which means drastic measures are soon to follow.
Step 3: Activate laziness.
Pretend a serial killer is chasing you through a forest and you come to a river with no bridge. Instead, there are 20 boats lined up in the river, each of which has someone’s name on it. Do you borrow a boat in order to get across the river and escape your impending doom if you promise yourself that you will push the boat back across the river right after? Or do you just stand there and wait to die? You take the boat, right? Right. Okay, now pretend the serial killer is a final project deadline, the river is the project, the missing bridge is my missing pair of scissors and the boats are drawers owned by other art students who are not present at the time of this decision. Would you or would you not borrow a pair of scissors from a random students art drawer to complete your final project? If you say you would not, you’re lying because I know you just saved yourself up by that river.
Step 4: Challenge Fate.
Instead of going back to the dorm to get the supplies, I borrowed someone else’s scissors. Big whoop. “There are 20 other drawers in the room,” I thought to myself, “there’s no way the owner of these scissors will come in right now, on a Sunday afternoon in the pouring rain on a long weekend, to use these scissors.” (Note: When you begin a sentence with “There’s no way so and so can happen” be prepared for “so and so” to find a way.) Never challenge Fate. It is the biggest bully out of all the worldly ideas right next to Karma and Embarrassment.
Step 5: Pay the price.
Let’s say you’ve followed these instructions word for word and you’re currently holding a pair of scissors to your construction paper celebrating over the fact that you didn’t have to trudge back through the waterfall outside to retrieve your own supplies. Congrats. You’re about to find out the reason people don’t count their eggs before they hatch. If everything goes as planned, the owner of the scissors will walk in the door, cheerfully drop her bag on the table right across from you and head over to search for her supplies. In her drawer. That you pillaged. This, my friend, is when you start taking notes. That novel isn’t going to write itself.
Step 6: Explain yourself
Has Embarrassment made a guest appearance yet? No? Great. When the confused art student spends 20 minutes rummaging around her drawer for her missing scissors, slowly slide the desired object under your drawing pad and wait for her return. As the elephant in the room that only you can see perches on your shoulder and uses your head as a drum, be sure to concoct an explanation for your theft so that when the victim returns to the table, you can pull out the scissors and explain that you really only needed them for a second and you were gonna give them back…and it was raining… and there were drawers… raining…sorry? *cue shame*
Step 7: Wallow in Awkward
Now imagine that the victim continues to work on her project after your explanation. This is what the next 30 minutes will feel like: …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
I may have exhibited anxiety tears all the way back to my dorm (but it was still raining so it was fine) but gosh darnit, was I glad to have been blatantly embarrassed! What lazatrophes have you guys experienced? Awkward encounters? Cooking disasters? Popularity killers? Bring your dinner plates and come on down! We can’t make a best-selling novel with just one lazatrophic story, after all.