In the early 1980’s, also known as the dark ages for those who cannot imagine a world without cellphones, I drove my parents paneled Chrysler station wagon to work one night, at a higher end, Chicago area restaurant, where I was employed as a busboy. Being a new driver, my parents demanded I call them before heading home after my shift - so If I didn’t arrive home in 20 minutes, they would know there was something wrong. Seemed reasonable. When my shift ended, after midnight, I left for home - but forgot to call first.
As I was driving in the left lane, I saw a Dunkin donuts on my right. Knowing there would be a payphone there, I hit my brakes, cut across the right lane - and pulled into the parking lot. Called the folks, told them I was on my way, and proceeded back to the car - which was now blocked into the parking spot by a police car with flashing lights, oh fuck.
Apparently, this police car was in my blind spot, and as I swerved into the Dunkin Donuts, I unknowingly cut him off. He took my license, and told me I would be getting a ticket. Being 16, and naive, … What does that mean, I asked? He explained I would have to go to court, talk to a judge, and probably have to pay a fine. My slothful nature had no interest in court, which sounded both time consuming and expensive.
I asked, how much is the fine? He replied it was a $45 ticket. In the sports world, when the umpire/ref makes a call, they dish out the punishment on the spot. You know, 5 yards for this team, free throws for that team, etc… In my teenage brain, why would getting a traffic ticket be any different?
So I said “I could just pay it now - I’ve got the $45 in cash (Tips)?” He took the money, and I went home without a ticket. Truth is, it wasn’t until I went to school on Monday morning and told my friends what happened, I realized, I added bribing a cop, to my life resume.
Bagholder’s inherent laziness (Sloth) has always been both a blessing, and a curse. As the deadly sins go, sloth is a clear upgrade when compared to Pride, which is mostly a curse - as we discussed here in a previous blog. My biggest issue with sloth is it usually acts in the capacity of chauffeur, bringing along with it, any number of the other 7 deadlies. I could get off this couch, shred some lettuce, dice a tomato, grate some cheese, mash up an avocado, mince garlic, mix some vinegar & oil, toss it all together ……or ….. I could just tear open this bag of Cheetohs. So am I a glutton, or just lazy?
Webster’s defines the sin of Sloth as “laziness, an unwillingness to act or to care”. Personally, I would call that apathy, and my sloth variant includes a heavy dose of it. A true relationship killer, if you let it behind the wheel too often. Mrs. Bag asks “What vegetable would you like with your steak?” …or… “What should we get junior for his Birthday?” …or… “What should we watch tonight?”. It is a constant struggle to avoid answering with: It doesn’t matter, whatever you want, or I don’t care. Textbook apathy.
It is not all downside though. Much of my youth, when I wasn’t bribing cops, was spent on the south side of Chicago in a variety of dark, seedy places. On any given night, I was likely to be found at any of the Chicago area horse tracks, my bookie’s pool hall, playing poker, or if it was a Saturday morning in summer, running a craps game at the local caddy shack. While it was greed which sent me to those places, it was sloth which kept me there. Is there really a choice between earning $10 hauling some guys golf bag up and down hills for five hours, or running a craps game where, more often than not, you would go home with a wad of bills so big, it could choke a horse? Sloth made that choice easy for me.
As a youth, I could not see the sense in working a 40 hour week for X dollars, when that could easily be made in one hand of poker. My inner sloth demon really liked the idea of sitting in a comfortable chair, sipping a Diet Coke, in an air conditioned room, making calculated decisions for cash, against people who were often drinking themselves into a coma. Alcohol, mixed with the unsavory character of many of my opponents was routinely a problem. Rather than find something less risky to do, with a better crowd, my inner demon got me to ignore the danger, although I usually kept bail money in my boot, just in case. The financial swings in those games were crazy too. In fact, the very first time I sat in one of those poker games, I lost an 80 hour paycheck in under 15 minutes. F*cking brutal. Shortly after that night, I ran across a book called “Poker, a Guaranteed Income for Life”. The author was right … but I digress.
Surviving (or thriving) in those worlds required learning some valuable life lessons, quickly. Lessons I still use today like: whatever you play you better have an edge, keep the emotion out of decision making, and always have an exit plan. I spent many a night sitting in the stands at Sportsman’s Park betting on harness racing. Watching an 8-1 shot you have money on, pull away from the field down the stretch, is intoxicating. My inner demon loved, the seemingly easy money. Being hard-headed, It only took me a couple years of nightly visits to the track to realize there was no edge in staring at a program, trying to pick winners. Al Capone frequented Sportsman’s Park back when they raced dogs there. Shortly before post time, he would feed all the dogs in the race (except the one he was betting on) grease laden hamburger. Now that is an edge.
Those places (track, pool hall, poker game, caddy shack) have quite a few things in common. Obviously they all involve gambling to some extent. One of the not so obvious things is how they all solidified the idea in my head, that we live in a dog eat dog world. Every single one of those places would take every last cent you had, and then mock you in humiliating fashion as you slinked out the door. I still have psychological scars from the many nights I walked away broke, dreams crushed, and being ridiculed with barbs like: “never bet against the Steelers” or “You should have folded those Kings”, or “Told you that 5 horse was going to win”.
Those psychological scars were no doubt sown by the curse side of sloth, but the many life lessons, were sown by the blessing side. While many folks would argue my youth was misspent, truth is, I would not trade those memories for anything. Perhaps the most important takeaway from those days, was realizing the value of occasionally embracing your inner demons. We all have them, it is really just a question of how to make them work for you. Figure that out, and maybe one day, you too, can get yourself out of a traffic ticket.
I was always accused of laziness by my mother because rather than going out to play boring games in the street I preferred to read in my room with my cat for company.
It was not until I was in my 40s that my lifetime of psycho-damage from my mother was abruptly brought to an end when I heard my Doctor berating his daughter using my "industriousness" as a fine example to hurt her!
I was stunned. I was also mortified that he had set me up for resentment from a friend I valued.
So - I escaped my mother's old negative assessment only to find myself on a pedestal that was perpetually rocked with snarky comments like "Ms Goody2Shoes"!