The Crazy Thing About Karma

September 30th 2014

Story originally written and experienced: February 15th 2013

I was standing in line with a yogurt and soup. 










In a grocery store before I headed to her apartment on the upper east side.

“I have updates for you.” her text message read.“From over the weekend. Come over and I’ll tell everything in person.”

“Got it. Grabbing a weird dinner at the local grocery mart and I’ll be over soon.”

“Front door is open.”


“Your total is $6.56” said the cashier. “Debit or credit?”


“Please swipe.”

S   W   I   P   E

“You’re good to go ma’am.”


“Would you like your receipt?”

I was already out the door >>>

Italian wedding soup in one hand and “passion berry delight” in another—apartment bound to hear what was new.

And when I arrived, she was sitting on her bed. Half smiling and suspiciously amused. Which is why I said.

“I need two spoons and then you can tell me everything,”

“In the kitchen.”


Moments later I returned with two spoons in hand. And then she told me this.

“So I met a guy this weekend…at a gay bar actually. And turns out. Well. Turns out we were the only two straight people there. Both happened to be dragged along by our gay friends on this particular night. But no complaints really, because the drink specials were fucking unreal.


We had fun. We laughed. We joked. We ripped tequila shots for a discounted price. And eventually he comes back with me. And one thing leads to another and…

I decide that I’m really into it.


I’m not gonna sleep with him.

At least not yet.

And I tell him this. And everything was fine. And I was kind of excited to have met someone so cool in the city.


I woke up the next morning.

And he was gone. 


I had a text message in my inbox that said “Fuck you.”

I guess he was unhappy that I didn’t sleep with him. And at first I laughed…and then I was kind of hurt.

And then.

I looked to my


And I saw his $1,500 Rolex watch he accidentally left on my desk.

And I only know the price because.

I looked it up.

And then I sold it online for $2,000.


Understatement of the year.


I dropped

both of                             my spoons.

For a moment of shock.

The fuck.

The fuck.


And then we both laughed about it and said classic philosophical lines like “Karma is a bitch.”

And carried on our way.

Just another day over here.



But when I headed home that night. I got to thinking about it. And I got to thinking about it a lot.

About this thing called karma. And if it exists. Or if it does not.

How the tried and true definition of it is:




But the proof of its existence is absolutely nowhere.

But we abide by it anyway. Think about it anyway. Find relief in it anyway. And attribute any stroke of luck—good or bad—to it anyway.

Only because.

It’s a comforting and scary method of belief that keeps the fairness in this world brilliantly balanced—whether or not it truly exists.

We do good things—to do good things. But. It makes future fortunes feel that much more deserved.

We work hard. Help others. And take one for the team. Because we want to. But when something works out in our favor. (Eventually) We like to think it makes a little bit of sense.

And on the contrary.

Sometimes you meet someone who says something less than kind. And treats someone less than nice.

And the next thing they know.

They have one watch less.

Sorry bro.

Sorry bro.

  I guess the crazy thing about karma is.

Even if it doesn’t exist the literal way.

It exists the logistical way.

Because if you think about it.


Friendships. Careers. Relationships. Apartments. Timelines. Bedrooms. And bodies.

Are a direct product of the way we choose to act. And not act. Take care of them. And not take care of them. Pursue them. Or not pursue them.

That our best friends are there because we kept them there. And the bad ones departed because they just damn had to. That relationships uNrAvElEd for one reason or another, but if you’re proud of the dignity you kept in its entirety—then you’ve got some damn good things coming your way. That patience in a career doesn’t always feel like a virtue. But. By god. If you’re trying for it and working for it, treating people respectfully and give a general damn—relentlessly—it will all work out impossibly well.

It will.

I guess the crazy thing about karma is.

Even if it doesn’t exist the literal way.

It exists the logistical way.

It’s an invisible reward system that always comes through. Whether it’s the physical satisfaction of a bonus, a found love, a long awaited-apology or free coffee at the local cafe.


A reward system that gifts guilt to the people who deserve it and implements a constant     s  t  r  e  a  m    of unsatisfactory moments to those who decide to build their entire lives that way.


And when that happens. To those people.

Shoot me a text. And I’ll pick up dinner on the way. You deserve it.