A Short Story, by Colleen

A few weeks back I had an idea for a blog post, so I wrote it and rewrote it, and the more I edited it and re-edited it the less I liked it. So I decided I would start from scratch, but I couldn’t come up with any good scratch. I felt really bad for this blog and bad for myself, because it was so clear to me how bad of a blog writer I really was (am–still am). Then I had an experience over Labor Day weekend in which the order of the universe was revealed, and which convinced me of the existence of a divine being in ways that fifteen years of Catholic school never did. Here’s what happened:

My car broke down in Harlem.

My car broke down in Harlem, but I–along with my friend and boyfriend, who I had the great fortune of being with that fateful night–was aided by at least two guardian angels. One was a kindly gypsy cab driver, and the other a kindly NYPD officer working the night shift. I was so touched by the kindness and concern of these two gentlemen that I had my whole essay planned out in my mind before the tow truck had even arrived. It would be about the human connection, and the mysteries of the universe, and the divine plan that affects each of us in ways we can never anticipate or fully understand. This was it! The time had come! My time had come to blog!

Before I hopped in the tow truck with Jose that night, I made sure to scribble a quick note of thanks to the kindly police officer. The kindly gypsy cab driver had sped off into the night with $10, which is all I had left after an eventful day at the zoo. (Dippin’ Dots)

Fast forward about four days, lunchtime. I am with the same friend from That Night, and she hands me a folded-up piece of paper. She explains that this paper had been hanging on the lobby wall of her Harlem apartment building for the last few days, and it had only just occurred to her today to take a look at it, since papers don’t typically just hang out on walls all day.

Confused, I opened up the note. To Ms. _____. I got your note. Call me. XXX-XXX-XXXX.

No. Oh no. Nononononononononono.

The kindly police officer and all his fatherly concern wasn’t kindly and fatherly after all, I realized. He may have been a guardian that night, but he hadn’t been trying to be angelic about it. And his interest in helping didn’t have anything to do with the human connection or the mysteries of the universe.

Consequently, I didn’t write a blog post and I retained my title as the Worst Blogger of All Time.

I hope this anecdote clears up any and all questions you may have had. I also hope you’re having a really good day and are doing something more exciting than I am doing, which is watching the finale of America’s Got Talent with my parents.

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