Thursday, February 21, 2008

Just My Luck

I have long joked that if I were escorted into a room of 100 empty chairs — and only one of said chairs was susceptible to collapse — I would invariably choose that one.

Because that's just my sort of luck.

If you think I'm exaggerating, here's a "humorous" example of a just what exactly it means to be me:

A couple years ago I went to see a local acting troupe perform. The cost of admission is $5 plus the roll of a die.

In other words: anywhere from $6 to $11.

All around me people are paying $6, $7 and $8 to get in. In fact no one has paid $11 when it's my turn to roll.

"Twelve dollars!" declares the ticket-taker.

"Twelve?!" I said. "But that's not even possible!"

"Oh, yeah, you're right," he said, moving in for a closer look at the die. "Eleven dollars!"

I paid up, thrusting a fistful of dollars onto the table, my lips curled in a commingling of amusement and disgust.

Suffice it to say that though my bad luck often results in humorous stories and unique anecdotes, it is not always so benign. In fact: sometimes it instead results in trips to the hospital, rare allergies to life-saving drugs, and the occasional loss of limb.

[Just kidding about that last part.]

All a long way of saying I felt I had reason to be concerned when I saw this story regarding space debris.

When I am gone, remember me fondly — and, please, don't forget to feed Maude.


Tara said...

I think you're going to be spared.

Stacy said...

We'd never feed you to Maude (wink)

M@ said...

Dead Like Me was a great show that ran for only two years about an 18 year-old grim reaper who died as she was struck by a satellite.

Satellite Girl, they called her. They say your chances are one in six million of getting hit by a satellite but that strikes me as absurdly high given the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean where missiles normally rain down after tests. I don't buy it.

bookfraud said...

don't feel lonely -- i've been to the same show, and i paid $10.

hope that the spy satellite avoids chicago. but it will probably hit l.a. -- the glamor thing, you know.

The First Domino said...

Let me help you out here:
Wear armor-plated suits,
To banish all the fear.
Ride around in an iron-clad tank,
Or visit your local seer.
Live in a hole in the ground:
Any ol' bomb shelter will do.
Wear parachutes when flyin' around,
And never leave home when blue.
Just in case you need extra help,
Buy an insurance policy or two,
To cover critically bad health,
Or catastrophic damage to the self.

Anonymous said...

I think it is the extra toes that cause the bad luck. Why can't THOSE limbs be lost? (Sorry, the bad joke was there so I took it.)

All you can do is take the precautions that make sense (which you do, hence the heavy napsack you take everywhere) and try not to think about it.

My brother got all the luck in the family and he relied on it constantly. And one day, it gave out. Badly. At least you don't have to worry about your luck running out.

Supafly Turbo Cyborg said...

I vote for you to start wearing a helmet at all times. Just be wary of the short buses trying to give you a lift and don't lick the windows.