The Complexities in the Karma
(another escapade into Morality and Karma
and that damned cosmic force that
keeps following me around)
by Rewired,
6/3/00.
The morning brought an interesting experience to me. The experience was a good one for a change – at least at first glance, but my mind can turn what first seems like a simple event into a complex mess that summons fourth deep questions concerning internal motivations and so-called morality.
I couldn’t sleep. The day prior, I’d slept fifteen hours or so, and if you calculated out the fact that the normal human being needs eight hours of sleep for every sixteen, I deduced that I should be asleep about the time I started work. So I decided to – big surprise – go up to the restaurant were I work and have some coffee and write a bit before my shift.
I left the house, and there was some traffic back-up and everyone had to get in the far left lane. As can be expected, a vast array of selfish assholes wouldn’t let me through, and all the while my car stalled again and again. Finally I worked my way through and turned in to BP, and I was lucky that I had made it there – my car had been running on empty for some time. I got out, checked to see what pump it was – it was five – and went inside, hoping that they had some cash machine.
I’d never been at the place before. Behind the counter I saw a very strange and short elderly man.
“Do you have a bank machine?” I asked him, as I looked around in the hopes that I could answer my own question. I found a machine at the far end of the place that looked like one of those card-sliding thingamagigies, but under close observation I found that it wasn’t an ATM at all.
“I’m not sure,” he said politely – the elderly, fuzzy-bearded short man who resembled a pot-bellied leprechaun. He had approached me in a polite manner that, at first, seemed crudely acted, perhaps even sarcastic. “The guy who put it in didn’t explain it too well, and to be honest with you I never really asked him about it, though I suppose I should have. I do know that the machine won’t let you withdraw cash…”
“Well…” I just stood motionless for a moment, trying to get my brain working. Under massive amounts of caffeine mixed in with sleep deprivation, clear and focused state of mind can be a hard thing to accomplish. I was thinking how I was going to do this. I was still quite angry at the whole road escapade and my rage was making static in my mind. All I knew for certain was that I didn’t have the money in my pocket.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I could do,” he said, in that same, crudely-acted, perhaps sarcastic, and painfully polite tone of voice, “I could lend you the five bucks, and you could just pay me back some other time. My name is…,” and then he rambled off his name which I, of course, don’t remember, and would probably get sued for writing down here anyways in light of the way karma seems to work in my life.
It is possible that I didn’t really forget his name – it may not have registered at all. I was, of course, about to shit my pants over his offer. Was this all real? The whole moment had a surreal quality to it, like what I’d imagine a bad trip to be like. It reminded me of television in a way as well – really bad television, like a horribly-constructed skit on Saturday Night Live, where spooky, polite gas station attendants end up being hit men for Gang Green, the Irish Mafia.
I was dumbfounded. Tongue-tied. I didn’t know how to react. He’d shaken up my reality and cracked my mind. He appeared to be human – didn’t logic dictate he was supposed to be a cold-blooded asshole?
He was already taking the money from his own pocket and ringing it up. I was juggling my anger over the whole traffic thing I had to deal with moments ago and my amazement over the current presence of an obviously-malfunctioning human beings’ unprecedented goodness. In an instant I knew the answer that should’ve been clear all along – this man must be an alien drone sent on a strategic mind-fucking mission.
“Are you sure?” I said. Maybe I’d misunderstood him. Maybe I had been hallucinating. For some reason, and I wasn’t sure exactly what that reason was, that would make me feel a whole lot better.
“Yeah,” he said, “sure, why not?” Again, like a really bad actor.
I swallowed my pride. I tried my damnest to repress my anger. I took a breath so my voice wouldn’t reveal the threatening things in my mind.
“Thank you very much, sir. How long do you work today?”
“Hrmm,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous for some reason. He had a wary look on his face, as if I had asked for his address, name, age, phone number, social security number and how many pets he had.
“Two-thirty in the afternoon,” he finally finished.
I asked him again if he was sure, and he said it was no problem, so I thanked him again and went out to get gas, my head still buzzing due to whatever game That Unnamed Cosmic Force had slipped me into.
As I filled up my tank, I noticed Dairy Mart three buildings down. Without a moment’s hesitation, I ran across the street, across the parking lot and through the doors. I noted that the same dark-skinned Mexican guy behind the counter that had been there every time I’d ever been in there was, in fact, still there. The scary part was that I visited Dairy Mart all the time, at every possible shift, reinforcing my belief that he must be part of a top secret government program that was attempting to genetically-engineer sleepless soldiers with bad linguistic skills. I went to the ATM I knew was there and got out forty bucks.
“No cappa-zinno owr see-gow-ret toad-day?” He asked.
“No, not today,” I said as pleasantly as I could, as I ran back out the doors and down to BP, and walked in the doors of the gas station. The Leprechaun was talking to some sweet-sounding attractive girl at the counter. I flashed my twenty and laid it down at the table. I felt good in a way, as if I had accomplished something – as if I’d thwarted the cosmic test that the sinister universal forces had tried to cleverly guise from me as they ran me through it.
He nodded. “Thank you.” He said.
The wind stopped blowing. Cars stopped honking. There was no movement at all, no sound. Somebody, for a moment, had freeze-framed reality.
I stood there, just looking at him.
I suddenly realized that he had figured I was going to leave him the twenty for being such a `nice guy’ for lending me, a guy he hardly knows, five measly fucking dollars. He saw me sitting there and then the reality bulb flicked back on in his elfin brain.
“Oh – and I’ll get you your change.” He said.
He now seemed quite depressed, and perhaps a bit guilty over the fact that he had been expecting me to pay him three times what he had graciously offered to lend me simply for being a nice, jolly old elf. I was almost angry at his expectation. I suddenly realized, however – as that annoying empathy kicked in – that he had, in fact, been a nice guy and I should reward him with something. He handed me a ten and a five for change. I put the five back on the table.
He looked up at me – too quickly. If he hadn’t expected it, it should’ve taken a moment to register, as he threw a confused glance at me before a burst of realization appeared on his ripe old face. He didn’t. He just quickly looked up at me, the Bad Irish Actor knowing all along that I’d give in, and fork over some dough.
“You sure?” He asked.
I looked back right before I went out the door. “Yeah,” I said.
(another escapade into Morality and Karma
and that damned cosmic force that
keeps following me around)
by Rewired,
6/3/00.
The morning brought an interesting experience to me. The experience was a good one for a change – at least at first glance, but my mind can turn what first seems like a simple event into a complex mess that summons fourth deep questions concerning internal motivations and so-called morality.
I couldn’t sleep. The day prior, I’d slept fifteen hours or so, and if you calculated out the fact that the normal human being needs eight hours of sleep for every sixteen, I deduced that I should be asleep about the time I started work. So I decided to – big surprise – go up to the restaurant were I work and have some coffee and write a bit before my shift.
I left the house, and there was some traffic back-up and everyone had to get in the far left lane. As can be expected, a vast array of selfish assholes wouldn’t let me through, and all the while my car stalled again and again. Finally I worked my way through and turned in to BP, and I was lucky that I had made it there – my car had been running on empty for some time. I got out, checked to see what pump it was – it was five – and went inside, hoping that they had some cash machine.
I’d never been at the place before. Behind the counter I saw a very strange and short elderly man.
“Do you have a bank machine?” I asked him, as I looked around in the hopes that I could answer my own question. I found a machine at the far end of the place that looked like one of those card-sliding thingamagigies, but under close observation I found that it wasn’t an ATM at all.
“I’m not sure,” he said politely – the elderly, fuzzy-bearded short man who resembled a pot-bellied leprechaun. He had approached me in a polite manner that, at first, seemed crudely acted, perhaps even sarcastic. “The guy who put it in didn’t explain it too well, and to be honest with you I never really asked him about it, though I suppose I should have. I do know that the machine won’t let you withdraw cash…”
“Well…” I just stood motionless for a moment, trying to get my brain working. Under massive amounts of caffeine mixed in with sleep deprivation, clear and focused state of mind can be a hard thing to accomplish. I was thinking how I was going to do this. I was still quite angry at the whole road escapade and my rage was making static in my mind. All I knew for certain was that I didn’t have the money in my pocket.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I could do,” he said, in that same, crudely-acted, perhaps sarcastic, and painfully polite tone of voice, “I could lend you the five bucks, and you could just pay me back some other time. My name is…,” and then he rambled off his name which I, of course, don’t remember, and would probably get sued for writing down here anyways in light of the way karma seems to work in my life.
It is possible that I didn’t really forget his name – it may not have registered at all. I was, of course, about to shit my pants over his offer. Was this all real? The whole moment had a surreal quality to it, like what I’d imagine a bad trip to be like. It reminded me of television in a way as well – really bad television, like a horribly-constructed skit on Saturday Night Live, where spooky, polite gas station attendants end up being hit men for Gang Green, the Irish Mafia.
I was dumbfounded. Tongue-tied. I didn’t know how to react. He’d shaken up my reality and cracked my mind. He appeared to be human – didn’t logic dictate he was supposed to be a cold-blooded asshole?
He was already taking the money from his own pocket and ringing it up. I was juggling my anger over the whole traffic thing I had to deal with moments ago and my amazement over the current presence of an obviously-malfunctioning human beings’ unprecedented goodness. In an instant I knew the answer that should’ve been clear all along – this man must be an alien drone sent on a strategic mind-fucking mission.
“Are you sure?” I said. Maybe I’d misunderstood him. Maybe I had been hallucinating. For some reason, and I wasn’t sure exactly what that reason was, that would make me feel a whole lot better.
“Yeah,” he said, “sure, why not?” Again, like a really bad actor.
I swallowed my pride. I tried my damnest to repress my anger. I took a breath so my voice wouldn’t reveal the threatening things in my mind.
“Thank you very much, sir. How long do you work today?”
“Hrmm,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous for some reason. He had a wary look on his face, as if I had asked for his address, name, age, phone number, social security number and how many pets he had.
“Two-thirty in the afternoon,” he finally finished.
I asked him again if he was sure, and he said it was no problem, so I thanked him again and went out to get gas, my head still buzzing due to whatever game That Unnamed Cosmic Force had slipped me into.
As I filled up my tank, I noticed Dairy Mart three buildings down. Without a moment’s hesitation, I ran across the street, across the parking lot and through the doors. I noted that the same dark-skinned Mexican guy behind the counter that had been there every time I’d ever been in there was, in fact, still there. The scary part was that I visited Dairy Mart all the time, at every possible shift, reinforcing my belief that he must be part of a top secret government program that was attempting to genetically-engineer sleepless soldiers with bad linguistic skills. I went to the ATM I knew was there and got out forty bucks.
“No cappa-zinno owr see-gow-ret toad-day?” He asked.
“No, not today,” I said as pleasantly as I could, as I ran back out the doors and down to BP, and walked in the doors of the gas station. The Leprechaun was talking to some sweet-sounding attractive girl at the counter. I flashed my twenty and laid it down at the table. I felt good in a way, as if I had accomplished something – as if I’d thwarted the cosmic test that the sinister universal forces had tried to cleverly guise from me as they ran me through it.
He nodded. “Thank you.” He said.
The wind stopped blowing. Cars stopped honking. There was no movement at all, no sound. Somebody, for a moment, had freeze-framed reality.
I stood there, just looking at him.
I suddenly realized that he had figured I was going to leave him the twenty for being such a `nice guy’ for lending me, a guy he hardly knows, five measly fucking dollars. He saw me sitting there and then the reality bulb flicked back on in his elfin brain.
“Oh – and I’ll get you your change.” He said.
He now seemed quite depressed, and perhaps a bit guilty over the fact that he had been expecting me to pay him three times what he had graciously offered to lend me simply for being a nice, jolly old elf. I was almost angry at his expectation. I suddenly realized, however – as that annoying empathy kicked in – that he had, in fact, been a nice guy and I should reward him with something. He handed me a ten and a five for change. I put the five back on the table.
He looked up at me – too quickly. If he hadn’t expected it, it should’ve taken a moment to register, as he threw a confused glance at me before a burst of realization appeared on his ripe old face. He didn’t. He just quickly looked up at me, the Bad Irish Actor knowing all along that I’d give in, and fork over some dough.
“You sure?” He asked.
I looked back right before I went out the door. “Yeah,” I said.
