karma's a bitch

On my way to my friend Xalox B's pad to make some music I had to stop and take a leak.

I saw a Carl's Jr. and I pulled in. I know that Carl's Jr. restaurants have open bathrooms where you don't have to pay to use them or buy something in order to be buzzed in... I'm sure that in the seedier parts of town where homeless people abound and use the men's room as their personal grooming spot there might be some protective measures, but this was the Valley and I'd used the john at this particular fast-food joint before.

I did my business and got inside my new truck. Technically, it's not new: my dad gave it to me as a gift when he bought himself a newer truck. But he kept it in great condition, and even though it's a '99 it runs fine. It sure beats the hell out of the junker I was driving a month ago!

I was about to start the engine and back out and resume my drive when I noticed an empty soda can in my cup holder. I wanted to get rid of it and put my brand new pre-paid cel phone in its place.

Normally, I would just open the door and let the can drop on the ground and drive away without a care in the world. Yes, I'm a litterbug. I know this about myself. As far as I'm concerned, any place where there's cement and pavement and concrete and blacktop is already ruined, so unless I'm in the woods close to nature and one with Mother Earth, I really don't care about throwing my trash anywehre I want.

Anyway, as I was about to sin against the environment I noticed a trash can only a few feet away. For some reason, I told myself that this time I should not be lazy and just get up, walk over to the trash and drop the soda can in like a good boy. I mean, it was only a few feet, right?

So I did the deed, but when I tried to get back into the truck I discovered I'd locked myself out, with my cel phone and wallet on the inside.

You see, I have this compulsion with locking the doors to any vehicle I drive. I am constantly reminding any passengers that accompany me to lock their doors. I guess in this day and age, where most cars have automatic door locks and such, most people have forgotten how to lock the door when they exit a vehicle. I say this because I have to remind nearly everyone who is with me to do this one simple task. It's not asking a lot, is it?

Unfortunately, my compulsion backfired on me. I found myself wondering how I was going to get into my truck in the parking lot. I asked some people if they had Slim Jims or change so I could use the phone and maybe call someone to pick me up and take me back to my place, where the spare key was buried beneath oodles of knick-knacks in my coffee table drawer. No one helped out, and I started to panic a little.

I decided to try and see if I could somehow force the lock on the cab's sliding glass rear window to open. I pushed on it with my right hand. I didn't want to break the glass-- I just wanted to put enough pressure to cause the plastic lock to burst open, therefore allowing me to enter the truck and open the door.

Instead, I hit it a tad too hard. The glass from one of the sliding panels broke, and before I knew it my right forearm was bleeding.

My first thought was, "Well, at least it's open!" I unlocked the passenger side door. Then I entered the cab and grabbed the keys. I took out some fast-food napkins I had stored in the glove compartment and applied them to my wound. It wasn't a big cut, but it went deeper than I desired. I could see the white meat underneath my skin as I tried to stop the bleeding.

I surveyed the mess inside the cab: Glass was on the dashboard, the seat, the floor... everywhere. I pulled the ugly seat cover that my dad had left (the one I'd been intending to remove for some time now) and pulled the part that covered the back over the seat. I had no time to clean up the mess, and besides I was going to take it to a car wash later this week. They can vacuum it up for me. I just needed to be able to drive without tiny shards of glass poking at my bottom.

The bleeding hadn't stopped, and I contemplated just going straight home to see if I could clean the mess up and bandage my wound. But I figured that once it was all over, I'd get depressed and angry and not want to do anything, and just stew in my idiocy and regret until it was time to go to work. So instead I drove over to Xalox B's place like I had planned, but not before stopping at a liquor store and buying some Band-Aids and a garbage bag for the gaping hole in my rear window.

The music-making did make me feel better, but I went outside every now and then to check up on the truck, to make sure it wasn't stolen. I'd taken all of the valuables inside it and jammed them into my briefcase, which I took with me. Still, I wanted to be certain that no one would get a bright idea and break into the ride for any reason.

So now I'm here at work, going outside every hour to see if the truck is still there. I have enough cash saved up to find a place in the morning that'll fix up the window for cheap, and then I'll get the car washed and have all the glass removed.

But I definitely feel like this is karma for my littering ways. The one time I decided to be a Good Samaritan turned into a total disaster. I joked to Xalox that I was never going to throw trash in the proper receptacles ever again, but really it seems to me that if I'd made it a habit of doing that in the first place this might've been prevented.

Or maybe it was inevitable. Since I started driving this truck, I've wondered what I would do if my keys got locked inside. I was too lazy to pull out the spare key and get one of those key magnets that you can attach to the underside of a car in case something like this occurs. Plus, I now know how easy it is to break into my truck-- maybe an alarm is in order, at least as a deterrent?

Either way, I still feel dumb about the whole thing. I can laugh about it later on, but for now I can't help but beat myself up over it. I guess that's how karma is, eh? Sometimes we need to learn things the hard way before it turns into a more expensive lesson further on down the road.

OK, so I'm done venting. I got work to do, and then when my shift is done I've got more work to do. I suppose it could've been worse, but then again an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, or so the saying goes.

The moral of the story: Don't litter.