Dear Elusive and Arbitrary Seconds,
I find myself compelled to write to you, the very increments of time that so narrowly defined my recent brushes with oblivion. As you may recall, I am the Clinton homeowner who, thanks to your precise and seemingly calculated intervention, managed to escape a rather enthusiastic tornado by “seconds.” And while I understand, intellectually, that I should be overflowing with gratitude for these particular moments, I must confess, a deeper, more profound sense of exasperation has taken root.
Why, I ask you, *these* seconds? Why not, say, five more? Or perhaps a generous ten? Do you understand the sheer emotional whiplash of being told you escaped by “seconds”? It’s like being given a single, solitary raisin when you were hoping for a whole bunch. Technically, it's fruit, and technically, it saved me, but the 2 of that narrow margin is frankly, quite rude.
You, the seconds, hold such immense power. You dictate fates, decide destinies, and yet you choose to operate with such infuriating parsimony. Were you actively *watching*? Did you confer amongst yourselves, perhaps in a clandestine temporal huddle, deciding precisely how much leeway I, a humble homeowner with a penchant for procrastination, was to be afforded? Was there a bet? A cosmic bingo game where my life was the winning number, and “seconds to spare” was the inconvenient prize?
Furthermore, your complicity in the whole “slightly damaged schools” situation cannot go unmentioned. If you had been, dare I say, a *little* less efficient with my personal escape window, perhaps you could have also rerouted the vortex away from the educational infrastructure. A few more seconds for me, a few less for the twister’s itinerary – is that so much to ask? It’s not about being greedy, Seconds; it's about optimizing existential efficiency.
So, I implore you, for the sake of future homeowners, for the sanity of those who are left to ponder the razor-thin margins of their continued existence, please reconsider your approach. Can we not lobby for a “Buffer Seconds” initiative? A universal standard where, in the event of impending doom, you, the Seconds, are contractually obligated to provide a minimum of, say, thirty to ensure a less stressful, more dignified escape? This “by seconds” business is frankly, giving me more anxiety than the actual tornado. Let’s work together. Let’s make time a friend, not a heart attack waiting to happen. Please, Seconds, I beg you. Think of the collective blood pressure.
