Wishing you the best (some restrictions apply)

Yup, I saw the whole thing, and make sure you spell my name right

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Of course I want to think of myself as a good person, always hoping the best for everyone.

It’s not realistic, however, because the best doesn’t always happen — it’s only “the best” by comparison to other things that aren’t “the best.” If you got your wish and everything that happened really was the best, we wouldn’t even need a word for “best.” Instead of saying “Wishing you the best,” we’d say “Wishing you the ordinary.”

Also, if I’m honest, I must admit: When bad things happen, the bad in me quickly rises to the surface.

In a certain North Shore municipality (which shall remain nameless), I was at a certain place of business (which shall remain nameless), doing typical customerly things, when an employee (who shall remain nameless) came hustling up to announce that the building needed to be evacuated pronto.

Something unexpected and unfortunate had happened, something which certainly did not qualify as “the best,” and at any moment the entire place could go kaboom. So get out.

I obeyed. I did not want to go kaboom. I went out to my car, got in, and drove away.

But not far.

As I was leaving my parking space, I was seized by a terrible character flaw: When it comes to disaster, I don’t simply “hope the best for everyone.”

Truth be told, I have a hierarchy of hopes, a pecking order of preferences, which kicks in immediately, automatically. I don’t have to conjure it consciously; in fact, I can’t shut it off. It just comes.

It’s a sort of checkdown, from top- to bottom-priority, and it goes like this:

1. I absolutely don’t want anyone to die. But if someone has to die, I want it to be quick and painless, for their sake. And not too gory, for my sake.

2. If nobody is going to die, but somebody has to get hurt, I want their injuries to be treatable, not terminal. And no maiming. Absolutely no amputations. Also, everyone involved should be fully insured.

3. Technically, I hope the building doesn’t explode, because I know that wouldn’t be “the best for everyone.” But if the building has to explode, I want to see it. Which is why I didn’t keep driving. I stopped a block or so away, where I could still see the building. In case it did explode.

4. If there’s going to be an explosion, and I get to see it, I still want to be a safe distance away, because how stupid to run for your life and then still get hurt just because you didn’t run quite far enough.

5. If the building has to explode, and I’m a safe distance away, and nobody dies, and nobody gets hurt, at least not very badly, then I want to be the one who calls the story in to the Ipswich Local News. I’m totally okay with someone else calling 911, and the dispatcher calling the fire department, and the scanner in the news office crackling to life with the urgent alert. But then I want the news editor on duty to say, “Yup, must be real; Doug Brendel just called that in.”

6. If the building explodes and there are no casualties and the firefighters master the crisis in mere minutes andinsurance covers the only damage — which was a firefighter chopping through a door because a relatively new employee nervous about getting fired followed the closing protocol and locked up while evacuating — and I beat 911 and get the news scoop, then I hope there’s a cash prize.

7. If no cash, just mention my name in the story. Can it be front-page?

In this case, however, none of the seven checkdowns were needed. It was a fake-news gas-leak smell — someone brought deviled eggs from a Celtics playoffs watch party and forgot them in the lunchroom after the 76ers came back and ruined everything.

Gads, that happened how many weeks ago?