I had a dream the other night. I was downtown (I assume L.A., but it wasn’t clear) when some kind of unknown, toxic substance was released. Because I was so close to the scene, I was excited to call into KNX and be the on-site reporter.
In the course of reporting, authorities began blocking off the area, and men in chemical suits started corralling us into an intersection. I was still excited to be the on-air eyewitness… until an official told us that while they didn’t know what the substance was, people who were nearer to the initial release were already dying, and they believed we were also already fatally exposed.
“We’ve just been informed that we are casualties,” I said on the air. “I’ll stay on the line as long as I can and describe what’s happening, but I’m told that as soon as I begin bleeding from the eyes, nose, and mouth, I’ll only have about 15 minutes of life left.”
I stopped worrying about dying and focused on reporting. Then I started imagining all the awards I’d get posthumously. And then I woke up.
The lesson I took is that if I’m going to die, might as well make it as dramatic as possible.