I drove to Lodi in a heavy mist that turned into rain before I hit highway 12. I slogged forward, and found myself on the strange side of town in front of a shop where work would be done to repair something I bought which does not function as promised.
Yes, that sentence contains no identifying information from which anyone not already educated could infer the who, the what, or the why. Because (gesturing) well, this.
I’m trying to wrap my head around some gross disappointments lately. Professionals retained who fail in their jobs; purchases made of items which don’t conform to advertisement. I want to rail and bash and shout and complain. Not to obtain redress: But to protect the next unwary, trusting soul.
The next sixty-two-year-old divorced alone woman who thinks thirty years’ acquaintance qualifies her to pick a professional.
The next consumer who sits in front of a young man with a winsome smile and a photo of his child on a clean desk.
The next high school drop-out, maybe, with a hundred bucks and a need for a new phone, who walks into a store and encounters an unscrupulous clerk. No, that didn’t happen to me — but it happens to many people. Their phone breaks, and they need it to get the calls for jobs, or the late-night frantic entreaty from a teen-aged child. They dash to the wireless storefront at the mall, thinking to buy the cheapest available model. An hour later, over-borne by the enthusiasm of someone working on commission, they can’t buy food or bus fare because they’ve spent their last dollars on a replacement that they’ve been told will save their lives.
In my case, I’m more than a college graduate. And still, I get side-swiped by people who take my money and don’t do their jobs. I don’t want to just moan, nor do I want to badmouth them. But the last two months have sent numerous such people my way. They’ve promised me the moon and then thrown a black-out curtain over my eyes and gas-lighted their way out the door while I struggled with the heavy fabric.
I’ll never regain the money they cost me, nor the time, nor the anguish. Complaining won’t help. I don’t want payback.
But I want the universe to protect others from these unscrupulous souls who hide their bloodthirsty hearts behind sweet smiles.
So what do I do? I’m thinking, people; and while I think, I’m mustering my heart of gold and my own brand of universal kindness, and watching for chances to help anyone who needs the gift of my consideration. I won’t stoop as low as the people who’ve cheated me. I’ll go high; and I’ll watch for the universe to set things straight or provide me with a chance to protect the next person from being victimized.
I’m counting my blessings in Delta Bay. I know that life will send many more good people to offset those who took advantage of me, so I’ll smile, and I’ll laugh, and I’ll persist in my #journeytojoy.
It’s the ninth day of the forty–ninth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.