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Posts Tagged ‘luck’

Shit happens

October 8th, 2011 1 comment

Sometimes, shit even happens in a mini-van.

While you’re driving on a freeway.

Volunteering time you don’t really have.

Transporting a dog from a shelter to an adoption event.

In a flimsy and damn near broken crate.

… >pause to compose myself< …

And when the shit does happen?

The dog that made the stinky mess?

He might just get even more freaked out by the transportation process.

And do a somersault inside the crappy crate.

Flinging poo not only all over the inside of said crate. But all over himself. Causing it to ooze out. Into the carpet of the car being (ab)used.

… >sigh< …

AND? When the crate flips over in the dog’s panic?

It might even break open.

Releasing a shit-covered-dog-in-a-frenzy.

To run frantically inside your minivan, looking for a way out.

As you slam on your breaks. And jump the hell OUT of your almost-still-moving-vehicle.

While he continues to spread the mess from inside the crate.

To the upholstery. To the walls. To the windows. To the seats (car seats of your kids not to be excluded). To your purse. To your steering wheel.

I still don’t know how it got in my hair.

… >shudder< …

And?

It’s apparently a joke best played by God (or whomever the higher power was that did that to me .. and my minivan .. yesterday)

When you are already running late.

To meet someone about a potential job opportunity.

… !!! …

I still have no idea how I made it home.

Showered.

Blow-dried my hair.

Found new, non-shit-covered-clothes.

And made it to my meeting.

With 10 minutes to spare.

But next time? I’m not even going to ask. I’m bringing my best, most secure, non-break-out-able crate to make a transfer.

If I miss a call from you today? It’s because I’m getting the shit out of my car. Please leave a message. I’ll call you back after I wash my hands.

Hope from luck

July 8th, 2010 2 comments

The DMV is a nasty place, full of excruciatingly long lines; people waiting impatiently to hand over money they don’t want to pay; and topped off with rude clerks.  It’s hardly the place that I thought I would find a little hope, and maybe even a little good luck.

Particularly not since it took me no less than FOUR trips there to get two cars registered.  ..I won’t spoil this post with the details behind that headache.  Rather, I mention it because I’d noticed the guy perched outside the door, begging for petition signatures, for two days in a row.  Finally leaving with plates in hand, able to cross something off my to-do list and still on a kidless-high from leaving the munchkins with the sitter, I didn’t wait for my time to be requested before I approached him.

After accusing me of hitting on him, I found my flirtatious new friend telling me not only about the politician he was trying to get on the ballot, but of his own personal struggles.  (Please remember.. I’ve been practicing getting strangers to open their hearts to me within five minutes for a while, now.)

“I’m not much of a reader,” he slipped in, trying to quickly move past his words.

I stopped signing my name long enough that he made eye contact.  “That’s an interesting statement.”

“I can read sentences.. but not all together.  They stop making sense after the first or second one.  I’m just.. not much of a reader.  I’m more a ‘common sense’ kind of guy.”

After gently pushing a bit further, he told me a little about being epileptic.  Unable to drive.  Without a”real” job.

My breath was sucked from my chest as he went on to share his dream to bring joy to our local Children’s Mercy Hospital, where both he and my own daughter have spent some dark times.

Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he picked through it carefully as we spoke.  A look of finality on his face, “Here,” he said, pressing a carefully laminated heart into my palm.  I looked down.

My lucky heart

My lucky heart

“Where did you find this?” I demanded, skeptical of the four-leaf clover I held.

“I just.. look down,” he replied, looking down, digging a half dozen more samples out to show me.  After sharing his collection, he demanded, “And what do they stand for?”

“Luck,” I stammered back.

“Exactly.  Those little things have given me luck.  Luck in health.  Luck in life.  And now.. It will bring you and your kids the same.”

The directness of his words and the heart pressed not really in laminate, but as he admitted, in packing tape, struck me in the center of my chest.  I’m not sure quite how I managed to walk away from that conversation, just as I’m still uncertain how to end this post.

Equally, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.  Will the four leaves bring me luck?  Or will it wind up being just another superstition?

We shall see.

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