I’m a Baptist, so I’m not supposed to believe in karma.
However, recent events in my life have changed my views from those of many of my Baptist counterparts.
I know all of you faithful readers out there have been keeping up with Cuff, so you had to have checked out my column last week about “Good Samaritan incidents” gone wrong.
If you didn’t, the gist of the column was when you try to help a brother (or sister) out, it seems like they would rather kick you right in the crotch than say thanks.
Now, when I use the term karma, I don’t necessarily mean to use it in its traditional East Asian religious form: I’m not saying anyone who has ripped off another person is going to be reincarnated as a mosquito.
What I am saying is when we try to do something nice, even if it backfires, sometimes we get paid back.
A few days after unfortunate good-deed-gone-wrong, I was rolling along in all my skeptical splendor down U.S. Highway 190 between Opelousas and Baton Rouge when I had a karmic experience.
There are some rough, bumpy spots on ole Highway 190, and I’ve traveled it many times on my way to Interstate 49 to head to the northern country up by Shreveport.
Since I am used to its rough surface, I didn’t immediately realize my driver side front tire was going flat: The road was always bumpy and there was always noise from all the ruts.
But as soon as I got on a newly constructed section of asphalt, there was still a roaring sound coming from outside, and I started to slow down so I could park my car on the shoulder and check my tire.
It was too late however, because just as I began decelerating my tire blew out.
With a little crafty maneuvering of the steering wheel, I got my car and myself safely out of traffic.
As I was beginning the tire changing process, it started raining hard – I’m talking a gully washer. (I didn’t realize at the time Tropical Storm Bill was saying hello to me.)
As I sat there jacking up my car, I thought about the appointment I was going to miss now that I had been sent a detour.
Then, whipping rain and sweat from my eyes, a little sedan stopped right behind my vehicle.
Out jumped a redheaded high school kid who ran up and asked if I needed any help.
I was shocked.
I didn’t expect anyone to stop and help a guy. Let’s face it: We men are supposed to know how to fix any problems with a car!
Actually, putting a spare tire on my car is one of the few automotive problems I can handle, so I didn’t need the guy’s help.
But he stayed anyway just in case.
I put the doughnut on and let the car back down, and the kid started walking toward his vehicle.
“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked.
He came back and told me, and I told him what he had done was a very nice thing.
Then I asked him to give me his phone number, because I would like to buy him dinner some time.
No, that was not a pick-up line. (But if it works, maybe the next time I get a flat a girl can stop and, uhm, help me fix my car!)
But he gave it to me, and one of these days he’ll get a really nice meal at Rolly Polly or Cane’s or some place like that.
Maybe what goes around really does come around, even to people who try to do good deeds.
Let Adam know if he’s getting too soft and sentimental and contact him at [email protected].