Idle American: What could go wrong?

It was an afternoon when elements of Murphy’s Law loomed, not in cataclysmic ways, but merely gnawing tidbits of annoyance - for me and others - that harkened us back to lessons of a children’s book, The Little Engine That Could. Millions of children first learned of “I-think-I-can” challenges, thanks to this little locomotive. (We who are long of tooth are likely in the “we’re-afraid-we-can’t” stage.)

Arnold Monk, whose pen name was “Watty Piper,” was the author. Maybe his goofy pen name helped the 1930 book to catch on.

It remains popular today.

Likewise a  hit is Dr. Mark Batterson’s The Best Worst Day Ever, published in 2023 and one of his 25 books to make the New York Times Best-Seller  List. He’s the “lead visionary” pastor of Washington, DC’s National Community Church. (Doesn’t that title and church name flow well, seeming to be almost “Quakerish”?) This, too, is a book of encouragement.

With the first sign of the BAD COLD SPELL loosening its grip, I ventured out. Streets were thawing, the sun shining and birds chirping. (OK, maybe they weren’t chirping, but were indeed flying about.)

I felt largely in charge, happily driving into downtown Fort Worth for an EKG necessitated by activation of my heart defibrillator a few days earlier. I exited the elevator on the fourth floor. The receptionist checked me in, directing me to be seated until the nurse came to fetch me.

I engaged  a waiting elderly couple in conversation. OK, they were a half-dozen years younger than me, but wonderful listeners. Some 20 minutes later, a nurse exited the elevator, questioning why I wasn’t “one floor up” where EKG tests are administered. I don’t think she bought my defense that “I-was-told-to-be-seated.”

She laughed as she slapped on the blood pressure band. Upon finishing, she told me of calling Jeanie, our daughter who was staying with my Brenda, my wife of almost 60 years. The nurse was checking to see if I’d left home.

Thankfully, Jeanie - taking the high road instead the high wire - maintained her positive “he’ll-show-up” attitude. Others might have feared that I’d wrecked my car, gotten lost or perhaps was stricken in the elevator.

On I went to a discount grocery, half-filling my cart with $100 worth of items. With a long line forming behind me, I fumbled through four credit cards, each of which was rejected. The cashier, a young man perhaps 20 years of age and maybe bored with it all, finally explained that the store “accepts only cash or debit cards.” I had the latter, and lucked out on guessing the password. As I completed payment, I noticed that the “on-one-foot-then-the-other” folks behind me had become relaxed.

Still needing white pepper, I stopped at Kroger, where a kind employee led me to the spice aisle. I picked up a few other items, and, at checkout, heard the customary “you-gotta-Kroger’s-card?” question. “Yes, but not on me,” I stumbled, hoping that one of three phone numbers provided would suffice. None did.

I had a “momentary miff” en route to my car, discovering that my Kroger card on my key ring. Marching back into the store to confront customer service, hopeful to recover the 95 cents my card would have justified. The nice guy said, “She gave you the discount, anyway.”  Then, the final foul-up. A Kroger employee raced across the parking lot to hand me the smart phone I’d left behind.

I felt lower than a fireman with his helmet on, easily walking erect under a four-clawed bathtub.

There was another puzzling annoyance on the way home. In my mind’s eye was something bright, as if a spotlight was shining on a billboard. It read: “SILVER ALERT,” and, in smaller letters, my license number! Such memories - including my explanation to the nurse that the defibrillation didn’t shock me - even though it did its job. With a wry smile, she answered, “You’ll feel it next time.” I could envision my defibrillator juiced up with increased voltage.

She recommended my avoiding stress. And, I am.

Dr. and Mrs. Newbury, married for almost 60 years, reside in the Metroplex. Speaking inquiries, newbury@speakerdoc.com, phone 817-692-5625.