This week: Overcome superstitions.
I once lived in apartment unit 422. I don’t know what I was thinking when I chose that unit, since 2 and 4 are my unlucky numbers. Maybe it was because my choice was either Unit Something Else overlooking the community dumpster or Unit 422 overlooking the parking lot. I decided my superstitious ways were silly, and since I worked hard, I deserved a beautiful view of Ford Ranger pick-up trucks and old Chevy Chevelles rather than a view of abandoned hoses and mangled IKEA furniture tossed carelessly by the dumpster.
I had standards.
The stunning view of the parking lot didn’t do as much for me as I had hoped. Even with clear, unobstructed access, I didn’t see my car being towed the first night. When I walked out the next morning to go to my promising career at the dry cleaner touching dirty clothes all day, I was confused. Had it been stolen? Was I going blind?
It was a Dodge Intrepid. Those motherfuckers are hard to miss. Even if I was losing my sight.
Turns out, I had parked my car in someone else’s spot, and the resident called to have it towed. Nothing says “Welcome to the neighborhood” like waking up to find your car missing. It was the unlucky unit number; I was sure of it.
Later that evening, after tracking down my car, rescuing it from the lot, and spending nine hours at the cleaners making a pimpin’ eight dollar an hour, I checked the mail before returning to unlucky 422.
I opened up my Mastercard statement. Holy jiminy. Hundreds of dollars in charges to an online dating service and women’s clothing retailers…none of which I had the good fun of charging myself.
I was pissed. But really, part of me felt like a modern-day cupid. Maybe this identity thief really wanted to find true love but didn’t have the funds to do it. Maybe by stealing my credit card number and charging her first three months to an online dating service and a couple of new outfits at Talbots, I set her on the path to finding a man who would love her. The dishonest, thieving woman that she was.
Or, maybe living in Unit 422 was an unlucky choice and I needed to move.
While I was mulling over this possibility, my cell phone rang. It was my mom calling to tell me that my grandmother had sepsis and I needed to get to Chicago as quickly as possible. She passed away before I landed at O’Hare.
I moved out shortly after that. I’ve never lived in another home that had a 2 and a 4 jointly in the address. I don’t stay on the 2nd or 4th floors in a hotel. I won’t let the phone company assign me phone numbers with both a 2 and a 4 in the number.
It’s been limiting in so many ways. I’m letting some 2’s and 4’s back into my life. I should probably be prepared…just in case.
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I promised you those awkward childhood photos weeks ago, and I’m finally posting them on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page today. “Like” the page to see the pictures in your Facebook feed. I’ll probably only keep them up till the weekend. Because, I’m embarrassed. There, I said it.
