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Link Details for: | crazy littl....... |
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| Link ID# | 32 |
| Link URL | http:// |
| Submited By | hany haggag abdl mobdy |
| Added On | Sun_Oct__5__2003 |
Description:
Crazy Little Thing Called Life by : ed harrison You may say it's a curse or that black cat you tripped on this morning. It could be Nemesis pinching your ear for accidentally killing your grandfather's goldfish when you were three, or just plain bad luck. Bad luck is a pretty flexible word though. It could include anything, from coffee spilling on your new shirt to getting yourself electrocuted while changing a light bulb. So I'm just sitting here as contented as anything, writing this article and listening to Mozart, and then suddenly the ceiling falls down right on my head. Could you put that in the same category of bad luck as missing the bus? Come on, be fair! If I could divide bad luck into categories, like mild, medium and real bad luck, I'd put the ceiling story in a milder category than missing the bus. You know why? Because at least when the ceiling falls on my head it's a swift, painless death (provided a real big chunk of it falls down). But standing in the middle of a thunderstorm to find a cab, now that's what I call catastrophe! But never mind all that. Sometimes bad luck takes it a bit too far testing one's patience. I believe that bad luck's just some sort of an imp somewhere that really gets a kick out of making our lives miserable. I can picture it right there, sitting on top of my monitor, dangling its feet and smiling impishly (well, it's an imp, isn't it?), and preparing to make my system crash or something. Now isn't that sweet? I'd be losing all my data, and it'd be as infernally happy as a divorce lawyer getting paid. But all that still doesn't count as bad luck compared to what one of my friends has been through a couple of months ago. Now listen carefully and consider yourselves really lucky! This friend of mine had a car, a Mercedes convertible that was her pride and joy. Not everyone has a Mercedes convertible these days, as you may already have realized, and that's why this white, flashy work of art was always very well taken care of. She was only that close to taking it up to her apartment for all I know! How she got the car is unimportant, as it will lead us into a long story of other people's misfortunes (keeping in mind that my friend here is actually a divorce lawyer). Anyway, a couple of months ago, she parked the car very carefully in the parking lot two blocks away from her place and just walked away. Two hours later it wasn't there. Who took it or how they took it will forever remain an unsolved mystery. She panicked, called the entire navy and nearly had a stroke. However, she had a very important meeting with a client that day (a lawyer has to eat, you know, and buy a new Mercedes convertible as well, just in case the old one couldn't be found), so she just took a cab and prayed for the best all the way to the meeting. Half way through the meeting they called to inform her that the car might have been found. So far so good, right? Wrong! The car was found indeed, and inside it were a gun and almost a kilogram of dope. These things happen, you know it could happen to you. Remember the ceiling thing? Anyway, there was my friend, all power suit and nervous breakdown, sitting for interrogation for nearly 11 hours! You must all remember that divorce lawyers are cunning weasels, but they're not as tough as other lawyers. She was in tears all through the procedure, and finally they let her go after an endless series of tests proved that the stuff in her car wasn't hers at all. No, no, don't let this sigh of relief out yet! I promised you a disaster, and that's exactly what you're getting! The car was confiscated of course, and to get it back she would have to wait until the owner of the gun and the dope was found, which would be a year, give or take a few months. She nearly had a fit when she heard that, but life must go on, so she borrowed her sister's Beetle. Just for you to know, it was an old, battered Beetle, not the cool new one. To know how that feels, you only have to live in Bel Air for three years then move into a hut in the jungles of Zimbabwe. It sure did hurt, and she had to park it about ten blocks away so that no one would see her getting out of such a shameful garbage can - no |
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