Meet Poppy. She’s very prepared. By day she rolls her eyes at the hysteria surrounding the coronavirus. By night, she reads every article about it, imagining the worst-case scenarios. To avoid looking hysterical she started buying an extra 5 canned goods at her grocery outings back in mid-February. She got the second to last industrial-sized hand sanitizer at Sams. She’s washed her hands 20 times and it’s not even lunchtime. Her fingers are peeling. Poppy has enough toilet paper to prep for a colonoscopy every day for two months, and she bought additional ammo at Walmart today in case things get apocalyptic. Poppy looks so sweet and chipper but don’t try and raid her stash of Clorox wipes or you’ll find yourself on the business end of a Sig Sauer. Her favorite song is “Fever” by Peggy Lee. .
As Courtney was handed the rule pamphlet, she swore she saw the Da Vinci code. Symbols swirled around, English words became foreign and strange. She somehow now knows how to set up a VCR after reading them, but still does not quite understand how to win atMahjong.
Last week she ordered each of them one of those gadgets that shatters your car window in case of a full water immersion. She also ordered a wind up radio. You know, in case the power grid goes down. She changed the air filters in the house last month, and commented that Olive Garden is a heck of a deal if you get a family sized pan with a five dollar take-home add-on. She’s been cracking open a Bud heavy after yoga class lately, and finally decided to try out a MyPillow.
But here she sits, six years after her appointment with WIDK reporting on milk prices, beauty pageants, the occasional car theft, Alderman election scandals, and downtown green space clean up efforts. This stupid little town doesn’t deserve her. She’s meant for greatness, and she despises their perky greetings on the streets....
