Lewis Grizzard Wednesday: Karma Broke It

Everything I own breaks, falls apart, gets stopped up or doesn’t fit. 

It is an incredible phenomenon that lately seems to be occurring even more often than before. 

My typewriter broke. It began eating ribbons. Devouring them. Twisting them. Chewing them and making large holes in them. I was afraid to put my hand down there to try to repair whatever was wrong. I was afraid I might draw back a nub. 

I sent the typewriter to a repair shop. The guy there said he thought a small animal might be trapped amongst all the workings. 

My air conditioner went out in all this heat. Luckily, I was able to find a repairman who came over in a matter of hours. 

He said a cat had got hung up in there and that’s why no air would come out. 

My car broke down. 

“Don’t tell me there’s a raccoon in my manifold,” I said to the mechanic. “That ain’t it,” he replied. “It’s your McPherson strut.” 

I thought that was a dance. 

The doorknob came off my front door. I’ve got a big brass doorknob on my front door, and one day, I came home, unlocked my door, turned the doorknob and it came off in my hand. 

Not only was I standing there with my doorknob in my hand, but not having a pair of pliers on me, I couldn’t twist the rod uncovered by the missing knob, and, therefore, couldn’t gain entrance into my house. 

It is further amazing to me how that any time you can’t get into your house, you suddenly have to go to the bathroom in the worst way. 

I stood on my front porch and did the McPherson strut until my neighbor came home and I borrowed his pliers. 

My shower drain became clogged. It was almost thigh-deep in my shower before I could get a plumber. I thought I was in Des Moines. 

The plumber said he thought it was a hairball that had clogged the drain. Everything around me is in a state of utter disrepair and now my hair is falling out. I could eat Drano. 

The darndest thing though was the remote control for my television. It burned. 

I’m not going to say there were flames, but I picked it up one day to turn on the television and it was red hot and wouldn’t work. 

Once it cooled off a bit I took it to the place where I bought my television. 

“Never seen nothing like this,” said the man after he opened the mechanism and looked at its innards. “Looks like it just caught on fire up in there.” 

“Is there no possible explanation?” I asked him. 

“Act of God, would be my best guess,” he answered. 

Perhaps all this is spiritual. Maybe it’s my karma, or my aura, or my energy or whatever all that stuff people who beg for money in airports talk about. 

Maybe I’m hexed or I’m jinxed. I get around it, or it gets around me, and it immediately falls apart. 

Or maybe it just seems like that because we live in a world that is a labyrinth of gadgetry. We depend on so much technology, which means there is always going to be something that isn’t going to be working. 

Nah, that’s not it. I’m a jinx. Leave me alone in a room with an anvil and I would figure out a way to render it unworkable. 

This goes all the way back to my childhood, by the way. Once, I got a horseshoe game for Christmas and it was a left-handed set. 

I’d go lie down, but my mattress is in the shop.

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