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LABELED: Murphy's Law by Edmund Policks

Murphy's Law is a concept that leads one to believe that Murphy himself must be one hard-working bastard. After all, considering how much his name is attributed to plans being horribly screwed up, you'd think that this guy works overtime as far as most people are concerned. But never has he deserved the "Employee of the Month Award" more than on Valentine's Day 2013: the day he tried his darnedest to prevent me from escaping my title as a Bachelor.

At the time, my crush was single and spending her Valentine's Day drinking with her roommates and cursing her "single" Facebook status. Needless to say, I could relate, and I hatched the plan of asking her out underneath a clever pretense. The plan? Show up with a box of candy and a bottle of wine in order to celebrate "Single Awareness Day," while working myself up to pop the "asking out" question by the end of the night.

Now this Valentine's Day fell on a Thursday and, like most people, my job paid me at the end of the week. But knowing my circumstances, my boss was understanding and promised that they would hand me a check upon the completion of their bank run at the end of the day. Being relatively broke and trusting in regards to their promise, I waited around the office for a couple of hours beyond my usual clock-out time. I thought that the wait would be worth it once I had check in hand and my funds intact. Two hours later, I received a phone call saying that they had never finished their bank run and that I would receive my check the next day. Score one point: Murphy.

Realizing that I was left in the cold, I took out what little money I could and made my way to the nearest Ralph's. My mindset was that if nothing else, I could perpetuate some semblance of my original courting plan. But as I mentioned before, Murphy himself was working over time, and despite my ability to purchase sugar cookies and a bottle of cheap wine, transportation proved nearly impossible.

See, at the time, I did not have a car, and remained one of those poor unfortunates who relied on the Los Angeles Public Transit. And being thus reliant, it meant that I was subject to any damage the line may endure at any given time. And considering my crush was in North Hollywood and both the Red Line train up there and the bus to her house broke down en route, I'd say that damage was certainly some to endure.

Three quarters of a mile from her house, I finally got off and decided to run the rest of the way. Yes, run. Sprinting and sweating all over the nice white collared shirt I had decided to wear, I finally made it to her door. After a moment of badly attempting to freshen myself up, I rang the doorbell to no avail. After a moment of checking that her car was in the driveway (which it was), I tried again. No dice.

I ultimately rang that bell over five times before I realized they must have left for the evening, and began my long journey home. Before leaving however, I texted her with my intent to surprise them with a visit and my regret upon missing them. It wasn't until I laid down in bed an hour and a half later that she texted me to inform me that she had been in the house the whole time but had been too surprised to answer the door.

I tried to ask her out again a month later and remained refused.

Fuck Murphy, because someone should. After all, he worked over time on my Valentine's Day and probably believes himself deserving of a good fucking.

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