Slanted & Wobbly

        I'm not a huge believer in fate, signs, and all of that mysterious, totally can't be proven applesauce. However, it's hard to ignore the repetitive nature of unfortunate circumstances and mishaps. For instance, why do I always pick the reject shopping cart and the wobbly table? Why?

       First of all, let me define a reject shopping cart. A reject shopping cart is a faulty shopping cart--usually with one jacked up wheel that prevents you from steering straight. As you know, this can be quite nettlesome. What exactly happens to these shopping carts? Because it's very unlikely that they're intentionally made to steer me into a tower of tampon boxes. What are human beings doing to these shopping carts to make them virtually useless? Is there a secret extreme stock cart racing event that I don't know about in the back of the store, beyond those swinging doors. Chances are, most of the damage is caused by bastard kids that don't know how to act in a civilized manner. Trust me, I was one of them. True, we were unrelenting hooligans. But, we were also discerning consumers. We actually did our fellow patrons a service by stealing a faulty shopping cart. And we probably got injured in the process. Did we conduct ourselves in a dangerous fashion? Yes. Were we stupid for doing so? Certainly. Were we selfless gentlemen, concerned with the well-being of others? Well, yes, you bet your ass we were. But, I digress. Let's take a seat at the wobbly table.

        The wobbly table is an uneven table that wobbles every time you lean on it. You can find these tables at your local diner, cafe, your grandmother's house and probably in an interrogation room. Some courteous yet, innovative engineers will locate the source of the problem and repair it with sugar packets--bringing the table back to a leveled, functional state. Yes, I'm sure that it is possible that some of the floors found in these establishments could be uneven--which would put the blame on the real engineers. However, I've found that more often than not, it's the table that's faulty. Should we blame China? Should we blame Ikea? I don't know. Probably. Blame the government. Blame a random baby. Blame social gatherings that require tables and chairs. I don't care. Hmm. There was a point I was trying to make here...

        Someone once told me that you can study perspective with both feet on the ground. But, you'll never learn anything until you're flat on your back or face down in the dirt. Actually, no one ever told me that. I just made it up. Perhaps these everyday inconvenient alterations are the result of karma. But, I honestly cannot think of any reason why karma, faulty carts, and wobbly tables would be linked. Who the hell believes in karma anyway? I don't. Well, maybe I do. Sometimes I do...sometimes, which is totally acceptable by the way. I can appreciate the notion of karma if it involves some sort of humorous, cleverly constructed metaphor that prompts me to say, "Man, you can't write this stuff." Then again some of these potentially karmic incidents result in some hilarious practical joke, which by the way could be written--probably for a whole slew of sitcoms. Hell, it could all be written and probably has been written because it's all be done and it's all been said--it just depends on how differently you construct your words. At any rate, what if it is exactly what everyone and their baby's momma says it is which is of course, "It is what it is"? This is such a passive thing to say. But, it's on the tip of all of our tongues. Karma and fate have been the life of the party for quite some time. However, quite recently it seems as though they're not even being invited. These days people are so cynical (myself included) to the point where everything becomes so cut and dry to the point where everything is what it is--rejecting any underlying meaning or solution.

        So if I were a true nonbeliever, I guess I could say I'm destined to be a spasmodic cart pusher. And I guess I'll subconsciously always be in search of faulty furniture. Honestly though, I feel like I'm somewhere between belief and unbelief--midlief (made up word). I feel as though with every imperfection and peccadillo comes something to think about and perhaps something to learn--if anything at all. Maybe that's all we're supposed to elicit from our misfortunes. Nothing coincidental, nothing fateful--just informational.