When the gawdawful hits – gratitude and vengeful thoughts
Karma’s a bitch.
I had a wonderful few days with my daughter, not a care in the world. As I was preparing to leave, I retrieved an outshrunk shirt (yes, the opposite of outgrown) to give to my daughter for a comfy nightshirt. When I picked it up from where I’d laid it down in her house, out fell chunks of blue safety glass.
A horrid suspicion propelled me outside and sure enough – some little barstids had fecking well bashed out my back passenger window on the driver’s side. No telling when – I had backed in and the damage wasn’t visible from where we’d passed, going in and out on our happy adventures. The little shites were thorough – there wasn’t much left of that window. There was glass both inside the car and out – clearly they’d pulled it out to see if there was anything of value to be had.
Well, little shites, happy you. You discovered knitting bags, grocery bags, scarves, my oversized black Goodwill coat of surprisingly good quality – and not much more. No Jordan Aires. No Xbox. No computer. No money. Just a cluttered Nana car with more stuff than makes any sense to keep in an adorable, peacock blue 2008 Nissan Versa hatchback that my daughter and granddaughter jointly named Bluebell Flashlight.
Interestingly, whenever disaster strikes, I am reminded very powerfully of the good things in my life in contrast to whatever gawdawful thing just happened. In this case, they didn’t take anything, they didn’t shatter every damned window in my sweet little car so that it only took one application of plastic (which flapped and snapped as loud as thunder as I drove down the freeway) to get me home – and I did get home safely. I have insurance, so apart from the $100 deductible, it will all be covered. I have my glorious daughter, who did most of the work picking up the glass as I raged and seethed and then set up that plastic well enough to withstand a 45 mile drive mostly on the freeway. I had my little Yoda Mouse chihuahua boy to tuck next to my heart to sooth me. I have an amazing granddaughter, whose enveloping hug made my chest stop aching with trauma.
It’s actually also better that I didn’t see it happen. I am a post-menopausal woman with a red belt in mixed martial arts and a history as a power lifter. They would not have fared well, and I would’ve probably gotten in more trouble for reacting than they would have for the deed, so that’s good as well.
However, I am not all that virtuous, actually. I do dearly wish that they get hemorrhoids – permanent and painful. I hope that they make so much noise pooping that all their sociopathic little friends know and, because they’re mean little sociopaths, they laugh at my miscreants and tease them for it. I am not pretending to be a better person than I am here. I want some revenge but, while I’d love to be a fly on the wall to see karma hit them like a ton of wet cow dung, I doubt I’d be so fortunate.
I find myself wishing awful things on awful people. I tend to wish that animal abusers could have the same things happen to them as they perpetrated on their animals. I hope that rapists get raped, that child abusers get payback in prison – I’m really not all that nice. Sometimes I wish I could be closed into a locked, soundproofed room with them – it’s the Nana Bear has a red belt thing.
On the other hand, what I really want, when I think about it, is for them to have dreams that the same thing is happening to them as what they’ve done. Vivid, scary dreams from the vantage point of the victims (animal or human). That they will wake up screaming over and over from these terrible dreams. I do, however, build in an out. If they stop what they’re doing and make reparation, I do wish them surcease.
Think about it – it’s perfect. In dreams, they live it vividly, and yet they aren’t truly harmed. They have the chance to get it to stop just by changing and making it right. Just imagine if we could wish such dreams on rapists, animal abusers, “honor” killers, Somali warlords, selfish politicians, greedy corporate outsourcers, human traffickers (the list is very long)… I’m betting they’d stop in a hurry, don’t you think?
Now the question is – how can we make this happen? I think I’d like to test it on the little monsters who harmed my car and screwed with my bliss…
P.S. All the people I talked to in the Sheriff’s office thought the hemorrhoids thing was pretty funny.