Good Morning Callow Hatchlings,
It has often been said by others, and I emphasize ‘others’ as I’ve no experience with this, but they say “I’d rather be lucky than good”. I’ve sat up in bed countless nights wondering what it would be like to be lucky but always fall back in a stupor of thought. It’s hard to believe I’m the only one that loses his shirt after a gambling outing! To hear others talk they broke even or wiped the house out! I doubt if the Bellagio was built by those breaking even, but I’ve heard the wealthy define lucky as being “prepared when opportunity knocks.”
Yes I’d certainly subscribe to the above tenet if it weren’t for the fact I’ve been prepared most of my adult life with seemingly boundless opportunities only to see the rewards go to the undeserving or worse, the surprised. I don’t want this to turn into a pity party (I deserve one though) as the two or three of you still reading this lotto ticket deserve something of substance. But I felt it important to tell this story without affectation allowing zero room for miscues.
I was fighting my way through traffic last night in hopes of making a committee meeting at Blondie’s. It was an important curmudgeon ‘rules’ meeting to decide how many times we’re allowed to repeat the superfluous preface/suffix, “I’m just saying….” in a single conversation. This issue has been hotly contested for months and I wasn’t going to let happy hour expire without throwing my two cents in!
Traffic was at such a pace walking would have been faster and time was running out. Timing is all important because once happy hour expires the meeting nearly always breaks up and nobody has ever volunteered to keep minutes. I’ve always been a proponent of minutes because it would go a long way in preventing the inevitable arguments concerning what was said or decided upon at previous meetings throwing the entire process into constant turmoil.
As I came upon a portion of the road that crowned allowing the driver a good view of a long downhill section and amazed to see an opening between two garbage trucks. If I could get there it would save me having to wait two complete signal cycles to get through the intersection. So I turned onto the right shoulder and hit the accelerator. I was cautious at first feeling as though I was under a spotlight and would likely get nailed by the cops for this egregious offense, but quickly gathered speed. The gap between trucks was still sufficient to execute the plan and had only 100 yards to cover. It looked as though ole zuki was going to make the meeting after all!
In my world one must not only accept that shit happens, but one should always expect it as well, but I continue to fight this axiom and resist succumbing to its eventuality. I suspect this is why I’ve become a cynical embittered old fart because I expect to win! However, for the two or three of you still reading this piffle I again snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.
Just as I was about to take my new place in line some asshole in the left lane decided his position would improve by a car length by taking my spot! Cut off I flipped him the universal sign of disapproval while narrowly avoiding a collision with the garbage truck.
I found myself exposed on the shoulder.
Turning my blinker on in hopes a good natured commuter would let me in keeping my dream alive, I slowly continued along the shoulder. This of course was a perfect example of letting hope overcome reason!
Once you start passing others that have patiently crept along waiting their turn there’s little sympathy for those of us thinking our situation is more important than theirs. The shoulder finally narrowed then ended at a small bridge that stretched over some nameless creek forcing me to stop altogether.
Blinker on I stayed there a very long time.
It was humbling to look over my shoulder rendering my very best ‘please help me’ look only to have all that passed laugh or applaud at my predicament. I suppose I had it coming!