What’s shakin’, California?
Hopefully not the earth underneath your feet on this fine Saturday. But I know that’s a thing that tends to happen there, so this story’s for you. Occasionally, I’ll get little messages from you west coast buddies after a quake. Some of you are wearing helmets. Some rock hockey masks. Others hide under their covers. (Obviously, the last one’s the safest – if you can’t see it then it can’t hurt you #MonsterUnderTheBedRules). But, perhaps your bedclothes aren’t magically creature-proof like mine. Or maybe the real monster’s your workload. You never even get to bed ‘cause you’re too busy burning the candle at both ends (wait – wouldn’t that just be a long wick? A waxless wick?). Well, if you fall into that midnight oil category, the good people at Lifeguard have created a workstation that’ll save you from all your seismic fears.
When the motherload hits, you can dive into your dollar-making life-saving den and enjoy such luxuries as: steel sides, tops, floors, heavy padding, handles, a toilet, oxygen mask, emergency lighting, food and water, and a signaling device. (Sounds like a handicapped stall, asylum suite, and crashing airplane all had an orgy inside an Ikea appliance. That you’ll never be able to put together. Because the instructions are in Martianese).
I think I’ll pre-order one now so it’s waiting for me in my Cali home-to-be.
Which apparently will be a broom closet sized studio.
‘cause that’s all I’ll be able to afford after forking out… $5,000 for this ish…? For that price, does it come with its own Starbucks inside? Or double as a submarine – so that when I get my third home in Hawaii, I’ll be tsunami-proof? (I’d hope so with a name like “Lifeguard”). Will it also save me from poison gas and hot lava when Yellowstone erupts? If not, will it at least be able to cryogenically freeze me until earth becomes habitable again? Does it fly? Where do babies come from? Do you think Pluto’s sad it can’t sit with us at lunch anymore?
I’m going to assume yes.
But until I know for sure, my existing apocalypse plan stands: rent a penthouse or rooftop and find someone to hold hands with as we watch the earth collapse into itself, Fight Club style. (Yes, even if it’s only a small quake, dammit! Now stop wriggling away from my clammy clasp before I throw you off this building!)
On the other hand… if you’re a supercharged desk jockey willing to fork that much out for a desk, you could get some real sedentary mileage outta this thing. Don’t even leave to go to bed. Just crawl inside, recharge, and boom!
Do I even need that studio apartment to put this thing in?
Come at me, bro.