Living right?

I’m not a huge believer in karma, I don’t think, and it’s probably a good thing. I mean, my sense of humor comes in a million shades of blue, and my wit usually runs at about an 85 on the inappropriate scale. Just tonight, I had a producer at work suggest that I stick around for the morning show to serve as “commentator” to the news. I don’t think the bosses would like that for long.

But anyway, even as a non-believer of karma, I must have done something right.


Last Saturday, I head out for a beer after work. Was going to go the previous week, but it didn’t work out. Don’t know that I was all that up for drinking the next week, but made the plans and there’s never anything wrong with an “unwinding” beer. (Or two.) So we hit a small bar in a not-so-impressive part of the city around 1 a.m. and as I’m paying for my second beer, something catches my eye on the floor.

A napkin.

Some curious side popped into my head, and I gave a quick scan of the rest of the floor around me. Surprisingly clean for this place, but then I see some folded-up money. What luck! I found a dollar! Until I unfolded it and saw Ben Franklin.


Finishing the second beer in a bit of a hurry, I head out to my car to find that my seat belt buckle had stuck in the door frame and I’m not all that sure my door shut and locked. In a not-so-impressive part of the city (mind you, fairly desolate and not exactly the St. Louis scene from “Vacation”, but I wasn’t parked in front of the Conrad, either).

That’s two.

Tonight, I was all set to leave work at 1 a.m. Done, signed out, packing up. Something (in part it was the developing story at the U. of Central Arkansas) got me to stick around an extra 15 minutes, then five more chatting in the parking lot. I get home to find a minivan halfway through a picket fence at the entrance of my neighborhood, next to a splintered telephone pole. Call work to see what it was, apparently, some drunk woman, who got herself out of the car before asking someone for a ride home.

Police had been dispatched to the scene 20 minutes earlier. Remember, when I was leaving work the first time?

From what I can figure by rolling through the accident scene, I think the drunk was going the same way I was, but it appeared to be a very violent crash.

So either someone’s looking out for me, or someone’s about to hit me where it counts. Either way, I’ve apparently done something right.

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