Your Guess is as Good as Mine

“I’m so sorry I knocked over your drink. I’ve already had a few. Let me buy you another one. What are you drinking?”

“Rolling Rock.”

“Barkeep! Two fingers of Jim Beam for me and an ice cold Rolling Rock for my friend – ? What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Joe.”

“…and an ice cold Rolling Rock for my friend Joe here.” He turned his flushed cheeks towards Joe and extended his hand. “John Dunivin. Heavy equipment sales. Just sold a three million dollar earthmover today. That’s why I’m celebrating. The commission is going to pay off my mortgage. What about you? What’s your game?” Joe took a long sip from the bottle the bartender had just set in front of him before replying.

“I’m a seismologist.” Dunivin’s eyes dimmed then suddenly brightened.

“So, when’s the big one going to hit? The one that’s supposed to level the whole West Coast?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What do you mean? You’re the seismologist.”

“What is it that you think seismologists do?”

“You predict earthquakes, right? Kind of like a weatherman, but for seismic activities.” Joe took another long sip.

“The weather and plate tectonics are both incredibly complex systems, but that’s where the similarity ends. The weather can be predicted with a great deal of accuracy over a period of days or even a week. Seismology deals in timespans of decades, centuries or millennia.”

“What good are seismologists if they can’t keep us out of harm’s way? I heard that dogs and cats can predict earthquakes. If they can, why can’t you?” Joe held his hands up next to each other, palms down, to demonstrate his forthcoming explanation.

“When tectonic plates are about to slip, they generate a pressure wave. This happens between ten and thirty minutes before the earthquake strikes and animals like cats and dogs are sensitive to it. But so are our instruments. We detect the pressure wave at the same time the animals do, but it often doesn’t give us enough time to issue a warning.”

“Is that the truth?” Joe smiled.

“Do you think you could handle the truth?” he asked Dunivin.

“Sure.” Dunivin nodded.

“Once you have completed your seismological studies, you must sign an oath of secrecy and commend yourself to the service of the mighty god Vulcan. We ensure that when Vulcan rises in the form of an earthquake, he can claim as many people as possible for his sacrifice. Now you will take this secret to your grave. Do you notice the slight flavor of almond in your drink? Cyanide.” Dunivin rushed towards the restroom, shoving two of his fat fingers down his throat.

“I saw you slip some Amaretto into that guy’s drink,” the bartender told Joe. “What’s that all about? It’s against the law for anyone to serve drinks here except me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Joe, slipping four twenties across the bar. “You know how I feel about stupid questions. Make sure his remain unanswered.”