I.
See a penny, pick it up. All day, you will have good luck. When I see a penny heads up on the sidewalk or in the laundry room or on the floor at work, I pick it up, put it in my pocket and take it home. I place the penny in my lucky penny cup, but only if it is still heads up when I pull it out of my pocket. The lucky penny cup can be pulled from when needed. I tend to tape a penny or two to letters I write to friends who may be in need. For my closest friend’s birthday last year, I included a lucky penny in her letter. In little ways, I see it paying off—a new job, a beautiful apartment, a newfound confidence that seems to rub off on the rest of us. Luck, it seems, doesn’t cost so much.
II.
I treat scaffolding like ladders in that I’d prefer not to walk under those structures. While scaffolding is obviously meant to walk under, they function too similarly to ladders. I remember sweeping the floor at my old job, there was a huge dust bunny taking shelter beneath a large, wooden ladder. The dust bunny was beckoning to me, begging me to come over and sweep her up. As I moved toward her, almost squarely in line with the triangular space below the ladder, my momentum encouraged a gust of wind, sending the dust bunny out from under the ladder in the opposite direction. I took another step; so did she. We continued like this one more time before I realized what was happening here. The ladder seemed to personify suddenly; it was as if the structure had the dust bunny tied to a string and was toying with me. I propped the broom against the wall then, and quickly turned out the lights. The ladder was meant to be put away; I don’t know why I wasn’t willing to risk turning back. I don’t know why I’m willing to risk walking in the street
III.
They say it’s seven years of bad luck if you break a mirror. That isn’t such a long time, when you really think about it. Seven years ago, I would have been eighteen. It’s possible that I’d broken a mirror or two around that time. I had a habit of breaking glass. When we were kids, my friends were charged with vandalism for throwing rocks at piles of trash in the alley; they pelted television screens, old mirrored medicine cabinets, coffee tables, framed pictures, and other discarded items of the breakable variety. It was fun, they said they had fun, and ultimately, it seemed harmless. Law enforcement didn’t think so. One of those friends is now a cop.
IV.
One of my favorite phrases in the English language is “Oh, you’ve got an eyelash.” Humans have upward of 250 eyelashes on the top and bottom rows, and they lose two to five per day, sometimes more if someone has a habit of rubbing their eyes, or if they have that disorder where they pull all their hair out due to stress. That means there are, on average, three chances per day that you could utter my favorite phrase, perhaps to a lover, a friend, or someone you’ve just met in passing. The trick is to grab it with your thumb and forefinger, and before you open your pincers to inspect, you guess which finger you think the eyelash will be stuck to. If you guess correctly, you get to make a wish. If you guess incorrectly, you could still make a wish, though it might not come true. I wish on every eyelash; a handful have come true. I’ll call those wishes low-hanging fruit.
V.
I read somewhere that it’s bad luck to spend too much time with someone who has the same birthday as you. I had an ex who I shared a birthday with. I could say more on that, but I think you understand what I’m saying.
VI.
The other day, it was pouring rain on my way to work. I left the apartment, it was dry, and when my train crept up from below the ground and into the gray daylight, it was wet. Unwilling to muscle through, I ducked into the nearest store to buy an umbrella—of course, I didn’t leave the house with one. I bought the first one I saw, a chic little number dappled in leopard print. I made my way to self checkout, stuffed my receipt in my purse, and ran down the stairs to begin my trek. Under the front door canopy, I unsheathed my new umbrella and hit the release button. The umbrella released just fine, but the metal frame would not stay open; it curled into itself like a dead spider. I tried several times, sliding the mechanism up and down the metal shaft. Nothing! I stormed back into the shop, made a swift return, and reassessed the remaining umbrellas. I found one similar to the faulty umbrella I’d just purchased. To avoid another mishap, I opened the umbrella right then and there, to see if it really worked. And it did! As I turned to make my way back to self checkout, a man who hadn’t been there before, was right behind me like a shadow. “That’s bad luck,” he said. Only my pant legs got wet on the walk to work.
VII.
Someone told me once that the person born fifty-three days after you is your mortal enemy. Okay, sure. You do the math. I might be the only one who finds this funny.
This week, I recommend calling your family, visiting a flea market, and steak for dinner.