Aliens! Run! Hide!

You know the movie scene when the alien spaceship is hovering over the city and the two neighbors come outside and see it for the first time.

Fred the accountant, drops his jaw along with his mail. William the chef, his coffee cup – mid-sip.

Then they both just slowly look across their front yards at each other, neither of them saying a word. But you can almost hear their minds, hearts, souls, vital organs – every thing letting out a collective scream of “Holyyyyyy Shhiiiiii…..”

Escape Plan

Then Fred runs inside in a flash. He grabs his wife, two kids, and hides in the fetal position under their king-size bed – hoping alien lasers can’t penetrate goose down comforters.

William, goes into frantic mode. He grabs his two dogs, three guinea pigs, and parakeet named Tweet and starts running down the road – bird cage in one hand, guinea pigs in the other.

And watching Fred and William from your movie theater seat you lean over and say to your friend, these guys are idiots. Neither one of them is going to make it.

C’mon guys! You can’t run or hide from these aliens! Figure out a Plan B!

Our Alien Ship

Doesn’t it kind of feel like there’s an alien spacecraft hovering over all of us right now? The economy, lay-offs, foreclosures, hiring freezes, and scandals all seem to be little spacecrafts, sent from the gigantic, looming, Mothership of Terror that we can’t even see, but can sure feel it’s presence.

And I don’t know about you, but I’ve definitely gone back and forth between the frantic and fetal. From sprinting down the street, screaming inaudibly, trying to outrun an alien spacecraft equipped with ten rockets.

To hiding under my bed, sucking on a pacifier of this is not happening, this is not happening. (Read my article titled “The Many. The Humbled. The Unemployed” to learn about my fetal position).

This fear is suffocating and overwhelming. It either tranquilizes me to do absolutely nothing, or gives me an adrenaline/anxiety rush to try and do every thing at once. Both reactions making me the idiot who’s probably not going to make it.

Our Audience

I wonder if God’s watching me, shaking his head and whispering “Paul, the fetal and the frantic is not going to work. You might want to try Plan B – you know, the whole trusting and depending on me thing. It’s the only way you’re going to get through this alive.”

Well as I look up at the alien spacecraft, with it’s death lasers set to start disintegrating at any second – God help! I choose Plan B. I choose Plan B.