By Jim Hagarty
1988
Last week, some anonymous busybody sent me a chain letter, the latest of several I’ve received over the years. This one involved no money or whiskey, however, but simply wanted me to write to 20 people and tell them I love them. I love exactly 20 people but am too shy to write it all down in a letter so I tossed it out.
But not before I’d read some startling stuff. I was commanded to send the 20 letters out within 96 hours or risk bad luck. If I sent them out, I could expect good luck within four days. Bad luck, good luck, what was a fella to do?
To help me make up my mind, the letter provided me with both examples of the poor schmoes who didn’t send the letters and the lucky dogs who did. A Royal Air Force officer, for example, got right on it, mailed the documents and received $470,000. Pitiful Elliot Joe, on the other hand, lost $40,000 because he made an airplane out of the letter and flew it off his third-floor balcony.
Tyrone Willy lost his wife six days after failing to circulate the letters. Not knowing Mrs. Willy, I will assume this was bad luck. Constantine Dias sent out 20 letters in 1953 and won a lottery worth $2 million. Carlo Badditt, said he’d be darned if he’d send out any such letters and promptly lost his job. Realizing his error, he quickly did as he was ordered and a few days later got a better job.
Poor old Delan Fairchild didn’t get a second chance. He died nine days after failing to send the letters. No such tragedy befell an obedient chain-letter woman in California, on the other hand, who got a brand new car out of the deal.
After a while, I could see that the general trend of these examples seemed to indicate that it was better to send out the letters than to not send them out. And yet, I got stuck on the part about writing love letters to 20 people. Had I been instructed to tell five or six people I sorta like them, I might have gone ahead. As it was, I just couldn’t do it.
My just desserts started the next day when I was robbed of $20. I haven’t been robbed of anything in 20 years. Two days later, somebody (the fink) stole my sunglasses out of my car while I was in a store. Two days after that, I came up empty handed in a lottery I was sure I would win.
But that isn’t all. During the past week, the following misfortunes can be added to my list:
The cat threw up on the garage floor.
A family of ants moved into my kitchen.
A family of fleas moved onto the cat.
My new eavestrough sprung a leak. So did the cat.
I showed up for a dinner date at a fancy restaurant only to find it closed for the holiday. We ate at Burgers R Us.
The cat threw up on the basement floor.
I went to the beach and got sunburned from head to toe.
A whole loaf of bread I bought went mouldy five minutes after passing its freshness date.
God called and I wasn’t home. (Lightning struck my answering machine.)
The price of coffee went up a nickel at a doughnut shop I frequent.
Of course, I’ve had enough of all this and so has the cat, which is running out of places to throw up. Therefore, I’ve decided to play along, in my own way. So, to the first 20 people who read this column, I just want to say I love you. And so does my cat.
Pass it on.
Or else.
