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As sheriff’s deputies directed the removal of furniture from her apartment, Alison sat on the front steps looking at her phone. Her bright pink t-shirt had glowing orange letters that said, “This is my lucky t-shirt.”

But after nine months of not paying rent and violating other terms of her lease, Alison’s luck had run out.

When I met her last year — when she applied to rent from me — I felt sorry for Alison. She told me about her difficult past. A failed marriage to a dysfunctional man. Drug issues and recovery. Financial problems. But she said she had turned everything around. Her supervisor at work gave her a glowing endorsement.

In the five years that I’ve been managing rentals for my company, she’s the only person I’ve regretted renting to. She left owing us thousands and thousands of dollars. Cleaning up and repairing the apartment will cost even more.

But as she sat there in her lucky t-shirt — two days after having her third child — I still felt sorry for her. And it hurt my heart to think about what could have brought this attractive blue-eyed blonde to such despair.

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I recently watched a little boy trying to get candy from one of those old-fashioned gumball machines. I rarely see such machines now, but I was in a neighborhood hardware store that hasn’t changed much since the 1950s.

The boy was frustrated, because he couldn’t figure out how to work the machine. He kept trying to place a quarter inside the chute where the gum or candy comes out. He tried to turn the crank, but he didn’t understand that the quarter had to be placed into a slot.

I attempted to show him where to put the quarter, but he wouldn’t listen. He was angry at the machine and ignored me — and kept making the same mistake.

“It’ll never work that way,” I gently told him in a friendly way, “because you’re doing it wrong.”

In the last few days, I’ve found myself thinking about that little boy. I’ve been watching all of the unhappiness and anger and misery of the world around me. I’ve been thinking about the things I see people doing that I know are never going to give them peace and joy. And I keep thinking about what God must think when he looks at his creatures.

“Your lives are never going to work this way,” he must think, “because you’re doing it all wrong.”

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Be a clone and kiss conviction good night
Cloneliness is next to godliness, right?
— Steve Taylor, “I Want to be a Clone”

I was furious when I saw the woman smoking. I had stopped for gasoline Sunday night and the only employee on duty was stocking some merchandise outside — maybe 10 or 12 feet from where I was pumping gas. And she was smoking.

The odds of a spark igniting fumes from that distance are tiny. It was highly unlikely anything bad was going to happen. But it made me feel unsafe. Isn’t this against the law? Doesn’t she have better sense?

The world would be a better place if every one of you thought exactly as I do. Acted as I do. I’m sure of that. We wouldn’t have to argue about risks. You would all agree with me.

You would agree with me that it makes sense to be vaccinated. You would believe the right things about politics and religion and culture. You would make the right decisions for your own life. I would never have to silently judge you — because you would agree with me.

Whether you realize it or not — and whether you would admit it or not — you are unconsciously programmed the same way. You think everybody else ought to be like you.

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