George Carlin wrote, “Life is simple: Your happiness will be based completely on luck and genetics. Everything comes down to luck and genetics. And when you think about it, even your genetics is luck.”
I’ve often wondered if some demonic cult or person has actually been able to put a curse on me, or is it simply that I’m predestined to step in shit the entire span of my life. I suppose if you piss enough people off over time, one is bound to offend that person connected to the occult with enough clout to bring those forces to bear.
I know it sounds odd and maybe even parallel with the L Ron Hubbard “Moonies” wandering the streets of Clearwater, FL but I assure you they’re different. I’m convinced that somehow I’m being hexed, and must get to the bottom of it just in case there’s a way out.
Last night I fell asleep with my glasses on and rolled over on them popping out a lens and bending the frames. I reinserted the lens but they just didn’t sit right so I ventured to the shopping mall to see if anyone could help me.
This was on a Saturday so the place was jammed with people. I typically never set foot in a mall as I hate the experience. I’ve even gone as far to take the Mall out of my Christmas experience as I’ve discovered cash is more welcome than a sweater nobody will ever wear. Like a pinball I bounced off hundreds of people with children in hand, toting bags and looking harried winding my way to the Optometrist.
There was a woman (without a ring) in my age range that offered to assist me. She adroitly reshaped the frame with a small pair of needle-nosed pliers and would lean forward slightly touching me as she gently placed the frame on my ears then lean back to check the fit. This was repeated at least a dozen times. With each successive placement her soft hands seemed to linger just a bit longer. During the final fit assessment for what seemed like a minute we stared at each other with her hands framed around my face. There was no doubt about it now, she was signaling me to make a move.
She got off work at 6:00 PM and agreed to meet me for appetizers and a drink. I still get nervous at first meetings but girded up my loins and headed for the entrance. I was a little early so I went into the bathroom to check my hair and tuck in my shirt. The mirror said I still had ‘it’ so I walked out and confidently approached the bar.
Helen had arrived without the white smock to reveal a long sleeved blouse and short(ish) skirt that accentuated her nice looking legs. I sucked in my stomach (as much as possible) and approached. The ‘Bone Fish Grill’ has a bar that’s lower than the dining area and what I failed to notice and/or negotiate was the two steps leading down to the bar. I immediately dropped two feet buckling my knees and lost my balance. I grabbed the back of a bar chair that kept me from completely falling, but my glasses flew off its perch and onto the floor where I proceeded to step on them in my struggle to stay upright. SHIT!
I heard a bit of snickering and one person asked me if I was okay, but what really stood out was my intended date laughing her ass off! She tried to stop and kept apologizing, but she was in one of those zones where it was impossible to stop. I was mortified beyond belief as I kept trying to recover and move on, but just when I thought we’d put it behind us, she would start laughing uncontrollably.
I picked up what was left of my glasses and walked out. She followed me out and assured me she had found her composure and asked if I would give her another chance. But just as we walked back in she once again exploded! This time she waved good bye between chortles knowing it was hopeless.
How in the hell can I ever face her? It’s obvious she found the irony too excruciating to get beyond it. I’d be grateful to anyone familiar enough with the occult to remove this curse. There’s a $10 bottle of Muscatel in it for a successful removal.