Jan. 29

Today did not start well (and for me that is saying something). You know those warnings about not sticking a fork into a pop-up toaster? I learned the hard way that the same thing can be applied to the early release button. After pulling myself up from the floor and rubbing my head where it hit the fridge, I decided to have cereal. This turned out to be much safer.

Binding the electrical burn on my hand and pulling on my jacket and gloves, I walked out to where my car was parked. Under three feet of snow. No matter. I kept a shovel in the front yard for just such an eventuality (that and if the coyotes ever decide to come back).

In just a tick, the car was clear and I was off into the unusually dark early morning to pick up my friend Macy at the end of her night-shift. It was while carrying out this simple act of kindness that disaster struck.

As I drove carefully down the road, watching for black ice, animals and kids road hockey games, someone else was being somewhat less observant. This person happened to be the driver of a rather large snow-plow, preparing to back out from the top of a recently cleared drive-way.

He was not watching for black ice and, as the fates would have it, just as he was backing out, he hit a large patch, and slid backwards carried by inertia, backed up by gravity (it was a very steep drive-way) and hit my front end full force, more or less taking it off.

The plow-driver had little money and seemed more upset than I was. I also had been thinking about buying a new car anyway. So, it came to pass that Macy got her first ride in a snow plow, I would have my drive-way plowed for free as long as I lived in a place with a drive-way and when I picked up Macy the next time, it was in a nice new car of prestigious European origin.

Jan, 11th (Wednesday)

This was my third week of unemployment. Up until then I had worked as a cook at a high-end restaurant but was unceremoniously laid off following a freak gas explosion. On the upside the place was insured up both nostrils and the owners decided to share the wealth in the severance package.

I used some of that money to take the bus into the city and buy some papers, all with classifieds, to look for a new job. Why didn't I go to a job site? Good question. This was before I got my first computer. Or at least one with internet access. Do people still use the term "word processor"?

Most of the jobs listed were either not remotely related to my skill set or required too much experience. In fact, the only job I was even remotely qualified for was one I was over qualified for. Apparently, a service station is looking for a new cashier. Not mentioning what had happened to the last cashier but I decided not to let it bother me.

The interview was conducted in an "office" (that more closely resembled a large supply closet with a desk). The manager seemed impressed, if a little befuddled as to why I would apply for a job I was so overqualified for. I told him that while pride was, at times, a very noble thing, It did a very poor job of paying the bills. He nodded and made a noise of acknowledgment before tossing me a uniform shirt, with name tag attached. Picking up on my look of gobsmacked befuddlement, he explained that the pervious employee had also been named Steven. I decided not to let that bother me either.

I got the afternoon shift, from 1:00 to 6:00 p.m. My first shift started in ten minutes. Lovely. Better to rip it off all at once I have said. The sting only lasts a while.

It was a fairly slow day. This was somewhat

surprising as the store was very near at least three high schools. I had expected huge throngs of proto-adults gabbing their after school sugar rush. But there was no one. Literally. I spent the first four hours of my first shift basking in the smell of grease and cleaning fluid and finishing a book of crosswords. Here's to the small blessings, I guess.

I was leaning on the counter, puzzling over an eighteen letter-word for "transfer of material existence" (turns out it was "transubstantiation"), when I heard the electric bell on the door chime. My head snapped up like a Pez dispenser. The customer, a smallish boy in his late teens came in, going straight for the candy. He came up, putting a bag of licorice down on the counter. There was a picture of koalas on his shirt. While I was distracted by the cute little marsupials, I heard another unmistakable sound. The one of the hammer being pulled back on a revolver. After that, things got a bit hazy.

The bullet had grazed my ear, imbedding itself in the wall behind me. This was, apparently, the first time this had happened in the course of some twenty-six robberies conducted by "Koala Boy" as he was known. And because the bullet had wound up, more or less, complete in a wall, it was much easier to get finger-print and ballistics samples. Both of which made it a good deal easier to trace it back to the weapon from which it was fired. A Smith & Wesson .38 snub-nose which the criminal in question had, for reasons unknown, registered in his own name. He was arrested today. I felt a bit odd taking the reward.

Welcome to the Rabbit Hole

Did you ever have one of those days? A point in your life when Murphy seems prophetic, Kafka looks totally accurate and Chicken Little comes off like a flaming optimist? Welcome to my life. Actually that's not fair. It isn't as bad as all that. Not usually anyway. My present condition is at best a mixed blessing and at worst a never ending spin at destiny's wheel. My "condition", such as it is, constitutes a state of near equilibrium in terms of, what is commonly known as, "luck". It has gotten to the point that my friends have dubbed me "Even" Steven Percy, tending to leave off my poetic sounding surname. What happens is this. You know those things, both glorious and horrific, that always seem to happen "to someone else"? That's me. I am someone else to everyone else. Now I was, understandably, upset by this. So much that I refused to believe it was true and started looking for a therapist. Dr. Ibsen, the only one who didn't laugh me out of the office, suggested that I keep an "Incidents Journal". A running record of strange things as they happen. What follows are selected excerpts, "highlights" if you will, from that journal, representing the strangely balanced life of Reality's original lightening rod.

("Even Steven" is a fictional web-serial, updated every Friday)