“In my defense, how was I supposed to know today was going to be the apocalypse?” I asked, adjusting my Mai Tai out of the camera’s view.

“What? Haven’t you been watching the news?” responded a beet-red face on the gate monitor screen.

“Ooooh, the news,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t think there’s been a single moment in my adult life where someone watching the news hasn’t turned to me at some point and said, ‘oh jeeze, Jim, doesn’t it feel like it’s getting pretty bad?’ And has it ever?'”

“Yes,” nearly screamed the voice on the other end of the call, “now! When I paid you for access to my bunker.”

“Yes, well, here’s the thing, Bob. We both know the bunker’s built for three families. And, well, Bob, I’m sorry, but it just happened - and sure, this wasn’t in the deal officially, but let’s be honest, I think we both knew it was going to happen - it turns out I took a couple of my friends and their families out for vacation in this lovely spot I had built for you while it was sitting here, unused, for the last what? Decade and a half? And I’m sorry, but it’s government regulation, Bob, the fire marshal wouldn’t allow-”

At that, the man at the other end began cursing up a positive storm.

“Listen Bob,” I cut in over the abuse, “clearly you’re in a place where we just can’t talk right now. Give me a call when you’re ready to communicate in a constructive manner.” I killed the connection to the front gate.

“Jim, dear? What was that?” called my lovely, smart, beautiful wife from the pool.

“Oh, nothing, just the Eagles game got cancelled, so I lose that bet with Ted by default,” I said.

“Oh, get off that screen and come spend time with us. We’re on vacation, the rest of the world can wait.” Damn, I thought. Was she ever smart.