Originally published in The Clifton Courier, July 36, 2017

Karma is coming for me.

Earlier today* I want to a garage sale. But it wasn’t just any old garage sale – it was Sydney Theatre Company’s garage sale. So there were more gems up for grabs than your average finds such as Bring It On sequels or novelty ice buckets. There were old set pieces and costumes and fur (unsure of the faux status) jackets and at least five Technicolour Dream Coats. So there was a lot of interest in the sale.

* Obviously not today. Today I went to work. I also had an egg and lettuce sandwich was with a pretty big deal for me. I’ve been quote before as saying “egg and lettuce sandwiches are better than sex” so it was a very, very good lunch break for me. I feel a little like a cosmopolitan Sex and City kinda gal. 

So much interest, in fact, that there was a line to get in.

I arrived at the sale after my friends, who were quite close to the front of the queue when I rocked up. At first I went to the back of the line, but after two minutes of stagnant waiting, I went on ahead and met my friends at their primo line spot.

Yep, I cut the line.

I was very conflicted about it. And rightly so.

Cutting a line is perhaps one of the worse things a human can do without relying on the insanity defence. It’s an unofficial cardinal sin.  Especially when the queue is for something as superficial as a sale. It’s not like it was for emergency treatment or anything. The only motivation for cutting in line is a complete disregard for all others and desperation for ripper bargains. It was pure selfishness, and I know that.

I went against everything I stood for when I pushed in that line. I may as well have just dumped several plastic bags straight into the ocean or turned the tap on full bull and left it running while I bushed my teeth.*

* It’s very hard for me to watch bathroom scenes in American movies for this reason. I honestly can’t set there for more than three seconds without going full Aussie Dad and yelling for somebody to turn that bloody tap off. A green drought is still a drought, ya water wasting fuckheads. 

But I made the decision to push in and now I have to live with it.

And I know that karma will punish me. It is only fair, really.

The problem is that I don’t know when I will be slapped by the swift hand of justice.

Especially because there were so many other great things that happened this morning.

Maybe the karmic response would have been for me to find nothing worth buying at the garage sale. But I walked away with a loud, gold-buttoned cardigan, an orange 90s power skirt, a vase with gumnut detailing and two shirts – all this gold for just $12. One of the shirts still had the price tag on it, for heaven’s sake. They paid $139 for it, and I paid just $2. TWO DOLLARY DOOS.

And breakfast afterwards was fantastic. I hate food buyer’s remorse more than most things, so I figured ordering a breakfast that turned out to be underwhelming would have been a suitable way for the universe to punish me for my selfishness. But, alas, my breakfast was delightful. I mean, I could have done with another piece of toast with my eggs, but that’s not really much of a punishment.

And a button came off my shirt as I changed into my pyjamas when I arrived home, which sounds bad but that’s actually a blessing. Because now I have a tiny, easy to achieve goal to put on my weekend to-do list and actually cross off. That’s no punishment, that’s a gift.

Nope, karma is still plotting its revenge.

I’m not sure what equals cutting in line in terms of cosmic penalties, however. I don’t know what to expect. It could be burning my tongue on hot tea or something as poetic as having someone cut in front of me while I waited to get into a movie only for the cutter to take the last seats. It could even be as severe as losing a hand. I really don’t know how the universe decides these things.

But now I think I’m going to be making my punishment even worse, because I’ve got a whole column out of this issue. It’s like I’m profiting off criminal activity, which is an offence under Australian Commonwealth law. Surely karma will take that into account when determining my sentence.

Or maybe this not knowing what the punishment is or when it will be dealt out is the actual punishment. Because stressing and constantly looking over my shoulder is no way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Well played, karma.

UPDATE: I’m still alive. I still have both hands. And my tongue hasn’t been burned in weeks. All I have to say is that I’m VERY nervous about my trip to the airport on Friday morning.