A Cashier Decides the Apocalypse

This is why I ended the world.

  “It all started when I was born”

 -Squidward tentacles, artist, clarinetist, fellow victim of life. 

My parents probably filed me as dependent  for a tax break quicker then they named me.  They named me Meg by the way,  which is fine except they made my middle name A’tron. I won't bother spelling out the portmanteau- I’ve suffered enough.

Like most kids, I once had sparks in my eyes. Hopes. Dreams of making money or marrying someone elderly and wealthy,  right before they croaked- no prenup obviously.

I scratched that idea when I realized I was ugly.  

Oddly freeing, though. Like accepting you wont make varsity or heaven.

  I also believed  “economic stability” was real. You know “Like gravity” or “good credit” things people swear by but somehow never apply to you. 

  Well I'm happy  to report (and by delighted, I mean spitefully delighted) it’s bullshit right up there with Helen Keller: being able to read, write a novel, fly a plane, or do anything else but haunt highschool debates. The fact,  I even needed a colon with Helen Keller in the same sentence is personally infuriating, but I digress.

So why did I destroy the world?

At sixteen, back when I had ambitions,  I wanted to be a psychologist,  lawyer. Or maybe run my own business, something niche yet empowering enough to feel some self worth-and justify overpriced lattes and a desk plaque that said “Boss Babe” unironically. 

 By seventeen, I was googling “what is FAFSA” and crying when I realized my parents were too alive and not abusive enough to matter. FAFSA hates functional mediocrity. Who knew?

 Despite it all,  at eighteen I got into State College– couldn't afford it. So I settled for community college.  L.O.L. Plot twist: I couldn't afford that either.

 Eventually I clawed my way into a degree so useless, it was more of a staple of financial ruin that was worth more than my liver on the blackmarket; which I would’ve sold,  if I wasn't an alcoholic. Bummer.

Somewhere along the way my car broke down. My childhood dog, Picklerick, got cancer. 

And then to chip away at my student loan debt and Picklericks medical bills,  I got a job that was initially supposed to be temporary but somehow turned into two decades of my valueless life. 

My soul long since evaporated. The word “miserable” didn't really cut it– I was  numb enough to trip a child with no guilt,  but not quite nihilistic enough commit genocide.

That came later.

What broke me?

Customer service.

You could argue, I was a terrible person before working in customer service, and maybe that's true- actually it’s true, but the public has drained me of every ounce of human empathy I’ve ever had. Not that it was a lot. 

After my soliloquy,  you would think the blatant disregard customers have for people’s well being,  time or patients is what sent me over the edge, no- that’s nothing weed couldn't fix.   

It was the utter forehead bashing criminal levels of dumb, I was forced to endure on a daily basis.

To justify my irrational tangent,  have you ever asked the question why do humans eat cows, pigs and chickens and not dogs or horses? 

Simple.

If you spent any time around a chicken cow or pig you’d realize they’re such moronic useless creatures that nothing justifies their existence other than being thrown on a grill, and suddenly the thought of them being mass farmed like minecraft mobs isn't so bad.

For example, Mama pigs have the mental capacity of a roomba. Chickens? Sentient  vegetables, and cows will forget to fart until they blow up.

And yet they are not the dumbest creatures I have interacted with.

A lady once asked me if the store carried “Sustainably harvested oxygenated water.”  

 I was confused and apparently my poker face isn't good because she got all offended  and said, “Just because you’re dead on the inside doesn't mean you have to mock people who care.”  I'm sorry was the Harvested Oxygenated water supposed to be next to the gluten free fog?  

Another time a woman asked if I could check in the back for dairy  free butter. To which I responded,  per definition of butter is impossible, because it’s  literally  made of dairy.  

She nodded and said, “So you wont help me because I’m vegan. Can I get a manager?” 

No.  I won't help you because I failed biology and even I know what a lipid is. 

Once I was ringing this guy's eggs and he asked me if they were “gluten free”.  I said “yes because their eggs,” and dont grow out the fucking ground.  He asked to see the box to make sure I wasn't lying. I handed it to him. He read it. Then verbatim he told me “Eggs come from chickens and chickens eat gluten.” I just smiled the kind of smile you give when your aunt asks why you're still single and hands you a book on how to love yourself.

Well I don't…So maybe I should've taken the book. 

—-------

This is why I created a machine to destroy the world.

  It started when I was born, my parents were in awe and the nurses clapped.

Clapped like I was already a little tap dancing puppet. Apparently I had perfect cranial symmetry, and top percentile reflexes. What was next? Childhood stardom,  probably wanted to sell me to the industry and extort me for money until I coke spiraled like Macholyculcan. 

Anyway, I was walking at seven months.  

 My mother picked me up less after that. 7.3% to be exact. Can you believe it? 

When I was two I built a functioning trebuchet out of legos.

A siege weapon. With counter weights, physics and strategy. And what does mother do? 

She framed it.

Called it precious.

They put it on a goddamn doily. 

My parents were suffocatingly supportive.  A therapist would call it secure attachment. I call it sabotage. What's a villain without a backstory? Worthless.

I once built a cold fusion prototype in my garage and my neighbor called HOA because the glow was “distracting her succulents.” 

I did a Ted talk at sixteen. The Ted. And all people did was compare my work to Einstein and comment on my jaw and what mewing techniques I used.  

People clapped. But never worshipped.  

What was brilliance without reverence.

So I  started small. Black hole simulations. Sentient AI that quoted Nietzshe. A toaster that felt shame. (Scrapped that one. Too powerful) But it wasn't enough.  I needed to make something that could never be recreated.

A machine so that no one could outdo me again ever!

A machine that destroyed that would destroyed everything.

After years of research,  I had done it. The machine was completed in all its glory all it would take was a press of a button and earth would be gone.

But what was the fun in that? No one to witness my brilliance, and what I had single handedly accomplished.

Then it hit me, I would broadcast the machine to the world and have someone press the button. 

But before I did, It was imperative that I bought popcorn to enjoy the show. 

That's how I met her. A cashier who looked like they had nothing to live for and had given up on humanity. 

I walked up to her and I asked, “What if I gave you a million dollars to come to my lab.”

Without hesitation she agreed, throwing off her name tag and apron in  toe. 

She didnt ask a single question, just followed me back to my car and politely stepped in.

When we arrived I hacked into the news and started filming.  I explained to the girl what the machine did and it was her decision. 

She asked, “Why wouldn't you just press the button.”

And I responded, “I'm the crazy one. Everyone knows I’d push it. Where's the fun in that? This is more suspenseful”  

She nodded. 

“Take all the time you ne-”

She pressed the button.