Dewaynesleepy and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

There’s an ancient Samoan folk tale that explains the concept of bad luck as a bad spirit that tends to strike people three times in a row before it decides to bow out.
I think the tale use to call the spirit of bad luck leaga aitu.

Actually I’m just joshing you. There is no Samoan folk tale, at least to my knowledge, that would classify luck as some type of shit causing ghost. And as for any Samoans that choose to stumble upon this chocolate stain I call a blog, I’m sincerely sorry if I offended you.

Especially Samoa Joe. Please don’t kick my ass. You rule.

No, I’m not Samoan but I’m Irish from my mother’s side which the only notable trait I received was my will to get completely smashed whenever I drink.

Stereotypes people, Stereotypes. The most pure fun, white, black racist folks can have without breaking the law.

And from the looks of things recently, my drinking days appear to be collecting dust along with my other college memories. You know, old dirty things that belong in an attic like team spirit pom poms, my diploma, and my friend Spencer.

But stereotypes, memories, or folk tales are not the subjects I wanted to explore tonight ladies and gentlemen. Luck is the lady I need to talk about. And what a mean, period having, bitch she’s been to me lately.

It started on Wednesday morning, as most dramatic shifts in luck tend to happen on that day or Mondays.

6 a.m. beeped from my girlfriend’s phone alarm and I merely turned over to stay in dreamland for another 15 minutes…which actually translated into an hour and a half. After a half assed shower and another sad attempt to dress myself as a bigger nerd, I ran to my car.

Ok it wasn’t so much as a run as it was jog.

Hmm, well, it was somewhere in between a power walk and an energetic skip. How about we say a giraffe gallop.

Ok, so anyway, I got in my car, turned the ignition and got a *clickclickclickclickclickclickclickbeepbeepbeepbeep*

This was of course strange, as I usually got a *clickclickclickvrooommmmm…Rover’s Morning Glory-static-This is the number one station for Hip Hop Hot107.1.*
But not this morning, just a *clickclickclickbeepbeep.*

No No NO!!! was all I could exclaim, along with a new vocabulary of cuss words I still haven’t figured out how to use yet. I mean when the hell is the proper time to say wuscuttabanannafuck? You tell me when.

This wouldn’t though at all. So I immediately popped the hood open and continued to look at the engine like I knew what to do.

Mmhm, Mmhm, well obviously I see what the problem is, I’m fucked.

I called my boss, and told him of my car situation and that I may just be a tad bit late as I thought the problem lay in a lack of oil.

I closed the hood and began my trek to the local Mapco Gas Station, where I finally arrived, bought some Gastrol Oil and some type of lubricant for my engine…you know, just in case. When I got back, I popped the hood again and fed my Simone–yes I did name my car–the oil. And this time, when I turned the ignition I finally got the same damn reaction.

It was the battery which is something the local Mapco doesn’t carry. But that was ok I would just call my dad and ask if he could jump my car.

Too bad that the one jacket I decide to wear on all days is the one with bottomless pockets.

Guess what. No phone. No jumper cables. No hope in hell.

So then I shifted my attentions from a suicide to a runaway. I combed through my neighbor five times, retracing steps, asking people, turning rooms upside down, kicking puppies.

Nothing.

With no phone and car, I spent Wednesday stranded and alone. A missed day of work and a missed day of great opportunity. And the sad thing is that this has only been the tip of the Titanic destroying iceberg known as my luck.

Through sound theories from friends and loved ones, I found out that the problem from my car may stem from my altonator. This would make sense since my roommate and I tried to jump my car that night and the only thing that came back on briefly was my radio. But now I’m looking at a $300 to $400 job. Great, and it chooses to happen right around Christmas.

I am now forced to drive my girlfriend’s car to work which needs to go to a shop soon too. I had to blow $54 on a battery for her car because I was stupid enough to leave her lights on after I parked it.

My hometown football team lost their shot at state finals, which shouldn’t really affect me but does since I got the chance to witness a bunch of hard working and talented “underdog” team break down into tears after their loss, it doesn’t much to raise personal morale.

There are a bunch of other tidbits of misery I could mention but then we would be here all day. And I’m not here to take all of your time, just bits of attention.

Just know that the bad luck hasn’t stopped.

You know, my dad said something interesting to me while he was helping me replace that battery. He said that he was sorry because I inherited the family trait of bad luck with cars, and just bad luck. Great, I get to add this to the family tradition of having my heart broken by the cubs every season.

Yeah I’m gonna go find a knife now.

–Sleepy Out

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