Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: good luck

Keep Good Luck on the down-low…

I forgot about the old saying that I just made up: Don’t speak too loudly of your good luck when bad luck might be listening.

The other day I mentioned how I was driving and heard a whining sound in the Grand Am that I recognized as the electric fuel pump. It only makes the noise when it is trying to pump gasoline and there is only air. It means, you’ll be walking in a matter of minutes.

I bragged about my great fortune and how I squeezed enough mileage out of the remaining air and fuel mix to make it to a gas station pump nozzle, whereupon the car died on the spot. Oh, how I bragged.

Bad luck was listening in.

Sunday, I was checking out the last vestiges of the South Tulsa Borders bookstore, and heard the whining sound in the parking lot. Truth to tell, I couldn’t concentrate much on the books and fixtures that were being closed out. I kept thinking about how little fuel was in the car’s gas tank.

I asked the clerk where the nearest QuikTrip was located, and he assured me they were easily found in any direction. Unfortunately, I didn’t even make it to the street. The dratted electrical gas gauge indicated a half-tank remained, but honestly, it said completely empty about ten minutes earlier. I never know what to believe.

Bad luck had been listening.

I trudged to QuikTrip. A little over a mile, uphill – no kidding. You know how Yale is in that area. When I finally dragged myself into the store’s air conditioned interior and asked about a gas can, I discovered I had walked in the wrong direction. This QT was completely out of gas cans. You never know when a run on those things will happen.

By this time, I was hobbling on my bad knee. Telephone calls were made, gas cans were transported. The gasoline was for a two-stroke lawnmower engine, and it didn’t work. Another trip – by car – the gas can, and another gallon of clean, fresh, expensive gasoline, and the Grand Am was on its way again. Air conditioning and all.

I consider the fact the air was working to be a stroke of good luck. But I’m not saying it too loudly.

If it wasn’t for real, bad luck…

My brother-in-law Dennis is an excellent guitar player, but told me once that – on the rare occasion – his hands don’t cooperate. His right hand might let down his left. Hard to believe, because his playing always sounds great. Then, I saw the NCAA Final.

The Butler Bulldogs made no music at all against the UConn Huskies, and as I watched shot after shot clang off the rim, I thought about one hand letting down the other. The Butler players knew how to shoot the basketball, for crying out loud. They were in the national championship game.

But for some reason, no matter what the shot, it would not go through the rim. Layup? Bang! In-and-out. Four-foot jumpshot? Not even close. Three pointers from downtown were working better than short ones, but not by much.

It was a horrible display of basketball skills. Less than two-of-ten went in the entire game. That’s counting the short-gimmee shots that missed as well.

Bad luck?

Maybe. Some people say ‘you make your own luck.’ I think great skills have something to do with inviting luck. As for Butler Monday night: If it wasn’t for real bad luck, they wouldn’t have no luck at all.

Some days good fortune is smiling, and if Butler lost their luck somewhere, I know where it turned up Tuesday afternoon.

I locked up the shop for a few minutes to run an errand and as I turned the corner, the car sputtered. The gas gauge on the GrandAm – like everything electrical on it – is suspect. It showed a full tank. I was a block away from a Murphy’s station and decided I ought to be on the safe side.

When the car pulled adjacent to the pump, the engine died. Cold dead dry. The gas cap on the car was exactly even with the pump’s nozzle.

I wish the good fortune could have applied to something like a lottery ticket, but – hey! Luck is where it finds you.