I usually take serious matters seriously. Not so for my visitor, Throckmorton. His recent visit supplied evidence. As soon as he entered and got settled, he immediately asked why my lawn was so dry.

I attempted to impress upon him the seriousness of the water shortage crisis facing Amherst and what we all needed to do to help in this emergency. I mentioned limiting showers to 5 minutes, not running the faucet needlessly, washing only full loads of laundry, getting leaks repaired, not watering lawns, not washing cars or trucks except at commercial vehicle washes, not washing buildings, sidewalks, or patios, and not filling swimming pools.

His first response was “Blah, blah, blah.”

“Throckmorton, that is appalling! The Atkins Reservoir is down 7-feet 4-inches and has 90 million gallons left, from full capacity of 200 million gallons (courtesy of Larry Kelley, recently on Facebook), and things can get much worse. In 1980 students had to be sent home because of the water shortage. Check tinyurl.com/h2ze86a. You can read about the whole 1980 adventure.

Throckmorton said, “Oh, I’m sure that would work. How would you know if they went home? Would an Amherst militia have to track the students and see that they didn’t stay in town? Wouldn’t they stay, just because you told them to go? And why did the students have to leave town? Why not the faculty and staff. Why not the permanent residents of the town?

“And why can’t we just go over to Hadley and fill up buckets. Or better yet, connect pipes to the Hadley water supply?”

Realizing that my jaw had dropped, I elevated it to its proper position and said, “Surely you are kidding about a serious issue that deserves no jests. We are confronting a situation that conceivably could result in the town running out of water. You know, that stuff you require in order to live.”

“Blah, blah, blah. And tell me this, I always heard that if you want to cut down on water consumption, don’t flush your toilet so much. The watchword was ‘If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, send it down.’ Why don’t they include that in the instructions.?”

“Well, that might help too. What is really important is that we all take this seriously and work together in the face of this threat.”

“Okay. Let me be serious. Why doesn’t UMass have a brewery on campus? When the water level gets too low, beer could be piped in. It might change the atmosphere of the classes but at least they wouldn’t have to be shut down.”

“Cut it out. Be serious or be gone.”

“Alright. Why aren’t we in touch with Coca Cola. They’re a pretty big outfit. What about them creating and trucking in a new flavor called Survival Coke until the rains return?”

“Throckmorton, I‘ve suspected that you have what is described in DSM-5 as a twisted mind. You’re confirming my suspicions. It seems likely that perhaps through no fault of your own, your mind has been twerked. In these days of ubiquitous social divisions of all sorts, separating people in so many ways, surely here we have a cause, an urgent, demanding cause, that we can all unite behind before it is too late. It just takes a little thoughtfulness, a little awareness, a bit of habit-breaking. This may be the new normal. We might have to carefully conserve water every summer. At least until our water storage facilities are enhanced. If that is possible.”

“Well,” Throckmorton said, “I may have to think this over. I want to be sure this is not the latest scheme Trumped up by the 1 percent to enrich the rich and scam the rest of us.”

“Trust me, Throckmorton, public water is socialized survival. The 1 percent would want to privatize it. Trump would want to deprive immigrants of it.”

“Okay, I’m convinced.”

Richard Bogartz is a professor of philosophy at the University of Massachusetts Amherst.