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{two o'clock} eryc eyl Somebody once told me that luck is when preparation meets opportunity. That’s probably true, even though I hate it when overly simplified, one-room-schoolhouse nursery rhymes masquerade as philosophy. You know what I mean, don’t you? Let’s say it’s true though. Does the same definition apply whether you’re talking about good or bad luck? Probably not. How do you define bad luck? Seems like you need some more adjectives. Is it lack of preparation? Lack of opportunity? Maybe it’s just half-assed preparation. Or really good preparation meeting the wrong opportunity. One thing’s certain – bad luck fucking sucks. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I? Not right now anyway. They also say that bad things come in threes, right? Like natural disasters. Or the Stooges. Or the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. So if you lock your keys in the car and spill coffee on your best tie, you can be fairly certain that you mom’s going to die next. Don’t laugh. I’m making a point here. Where the fuck did I put my gloves? Excuse my language. I guess that’s what pisses me off most about those little nuggets of wisdom – their unapologetic fatalism. These aphorisms insist that you accept, submit, give in to whatever it is that lines up preparation and opportunities in neat little groups of three. God, I guess. Let go and let God. That’s another one. Maybe that’s the first commandment. You have to sort of accept that one to swallow the inevitability of the others, don’t you? Where’s the power in that? Where’s the challenge? How do you win? Every day when I walk into work, that’s all I can think about. You probably think I’m a prick, and I don’t blame you, but the only reason I do what I do is for the power and the challenge. I do it to win. And in order for me to win, you have to lose. Or someone has to lose, anyway. Doesn’t have to be you. Just happens to be you this time. There are those gloves. I love the way these things fit. You ever had a really nice pair of gloves? Like a really good pair, where the leather wraps itself around your skin like a womb? Guess that’s where that stupid phrase comes from. Fits like a glove. Don’t know what I’d do without these. Relax. Jesus, you’re shaking. Can I have Cindy bring you some water? Cup of coffee? Cindy, bring us a cup of coffee, will you, doll? Make it two. Thanks. Anyway, as I was saying, someone has to lose. How do you lose? Bad luck, I guess. You find yourself in the same room with me and you’re thinking it’s bad fucking luck, right? Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Does the fact that you’re not getting out of here alive arise from bad luck? Is it that third unlucky thing in the inevitable series, or only the first? Maybe it’s all three unlucky things bundled up in one little moment. Depends who you’re talking to, I guess. To me, it’s preparation – like these gloves – meeting opportunity, which in this case is your throat. Thanks, Cindy. Here’s your coffee. Cindy, close the door on your way out, will you? Go ahead and lock it. And take the rest of the afternoon off, all right? No, that’s all we need. Thanks, doll. Mmm, that’s good coffee. She gets it from that deli downstairs, but then she adds some of those flavored creamers to it. You don’t mind, do you? Some do. They make it really hot. Is it too hot for you? I can’t feel it through these gloves, but I love the way it burns my mouth. It’s like you can feel your taste buds shriveling away. Now, where were we? |
