Every single day there are little pockets of luck that exist in fabrics of time. They ripple in and out of locations constantly fluctuating and moving, like a seam that has been cut in a sheet drying on a line during a hot summer afternoon and if you walk through the seam you are filled with warmth and good luck. These pockets make it possible for you to find a good parking space, or run into an old friend on the street or inside Target. The pockets of luck, if you are lucky enough to find them will provide you with that good feeling all day no matter how you slept the night before. If you find that pocket it will make you feel like a king for an entire day, even if it was just because you got a green light instead of a red at the crucial intersection that dictates whether or not you are tardy to an important meeting. These vortexes of luck are like waves crashing on the surf, and if you ride them right, they will take you all the way into shore with a rush of exhilaration and excitement.
However, if you miss the moment, and you stand on your board at the inopportune time, the waves will crash you on the rocks below to smithereens and your board will be smashed like a china doll thrown against a wall. Imagine now that no matter when you stand on your board as you see the vortex of luck opening, the wave always wrecks you. You find the perfect parking spot, but someone sneaks in just as you flick on your turn signal. It’s not fair, but they do it anyway, it does not matter if you were there first. You always get the red lights, and at that intersection it taunts you turning yellow and then to red instantly so you have to slam on your breaks to keep from hitting the elderly pedestrians that showed up out of nowhere. No matter when you go to Target, you always run into people you hate, like those people who made fun of you in high school whose names you can’t quite remember but whose laughter echoes in your ears nonetheless. If you always miss these precious pockets you are forever doomed to feel like the fool instead of the king.
Such is my lot in life. I am the surfer crashed against the rocks, the almost killer of old ladies because of red lights, the forever taunted by forgotten foes, the one who parks as far away from the location as possible. I have never once in my entire life experienced a vortex of luck. It is as though I can see these vortexes wherever I am, and then I see someone else victoriously go through them. While they walk through the slit in the sheet, I’m forced to sew it back up so I can use it to warm myself on the cold winter nights. I can’t, of course, actually see the vortexes, that is a power no man has, I just see other people get the parking spot that should be mine, run the yellow light that would have made me on time, run into their old high school crush in Target and spend a long happy life together.
Can you imagine what it is like to always have bad luck? I bet you think it sucks, but that I must be exaggerating. I’m not.
I was born on Friday the 13th, and on my 13th birthday my parents through me out of the house for being so unlucky (they were very superstitious). I was born with an outtie, instead of an innie. I never had many close friends due to the fact that my body odor is reminiscent of a skunk run over by a manure truck. I have never had a girlfriend, most likely due to the same problem. You see, I am allergic to all deodorants, I try them anyway only to break out in hideous hives that pus. In the end I must suffer, stinky and unlucky. I was always very intelligent but maintained an interest in insects of all things. An etymologist is not the sexiest profession either, not even to other etymologists. I tried to be a professor, but I was so late to my interview that they gave the job to someone else. In the end, I work for a nonprofit organization that studies new species of insects found in remote tropical locations. My boss thought I would be the best candidate for the solo job in the tropics of Borneo where the only other people are natives who think I am the god of feces because of the stench I emote.
Never having any luck can have its upsides too, believe it or not. I can work in solitude on my project which helps me focus on the micro-species I find crawling in my pants every night. I am also trying, in vain, to develop a deodorant which repels my particular brand of B.O. My home is a tree house with a very leaky roof and my food often spoils, so that is not on the plus side, but what is, is that I kind of love it here. I like the sound of the rain on the thick leaves outside, I like the bugs I find everywhere, and to be perfectly honest, I like the way I smell. It is unique and defining and it is a part of who I am. That being said, it would be nice to have some company every now and then, maybe from someone of the female variety.
One unlucky Tuesday, I was studying a particularly brutal fire ant who had found its way up my trousers to that special area which burned especially horrid. It was hot and muggy, my least favorite. I had not eaten all day because the same fire ants had worked their way into my pantry. I was the stinkiest I think I have ever been, because there was never any chance to bathe except when it rained and for the past week or two it had threatened to rain, but without a drop of precipitation. All in all, the day started out as any other day in my smelly life.
I was examining the fire ant’s armor and the bites on my special area when I saw her. She came walked under the canopy where my tree house was with wild unruly brown hair, more of a non-color than brown. She looked completely bewildered, her bug eyes shifting from one tall tree to the next. Her clothes were muddy and she appeared to have a few scrapes. She swatted unsuccessfully at a few mosquitoes. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Then again, it had been many months since I had even laid eyes on a woman.
I called down to her in my much unused voice, which made it crack like a teenage boy’s, “Hello down there. Can I help you find your way?” The ‘down’ came out in a high pitched squeak.
Hearing a voice from above startled the young woman and she screamed so loud all the birds in the area took to the sky. Recovering herself, she replied,”Hello, I’m sorry I screamed, you surprised me. Yes I am horribly lost. My GPS does not seem to be working properly. I am a tropical biologist sent to work with Keith Minor, the etymologist. Tell me, do you know where he might be. My name is Jane Jones.”
I laughed, “Sure I do. I am Dr. Minor, but please call me Keith. Pleasure to meet you Dr. Jones. I didn’t know I was meant to work with anyone else, then again I only use my satellite telephone every three months.”
Jane began climbing the ladder up to my tree house, “Oh well, yes. And call me Jane. When I began working for your organization, they told me I would better serve them here in Borneo with you. They seemed to laugh at me as a matter of fact. Though I am used to it. I’m afraid I have something rather important to tell you.”
She arrived at the house. “What is that?” I asked as I helped her into the tattered home.
“I stink,” She replied matter of factly.
She truly did. She smelled like moldy strawberries mixed with rotting lettuce. “I stink too, but I think you smell beautifully.”
She blushed and smiled, uncertain of what to say. Obviously no one had ever told her she smelled nice. “I like the way you smell too.”
We shared a look and I knew that for the first time in my life I had found a vortex of luck. I had met the woman of my dreams. She stank, she had no luck with her hair, she had zero sense of direction, her name was ordinary, and she was utterly and completely perfect. It did not matter if neither of us ever found a pocket of luck ever again, because the one that brought us together was enough to keep us happy through all the unlucky times.
