By Carl Sampson
You know the saying: “Everyone faces temptation, it’s how you react that matters.” Or something like that.
That thought came to mind the other day when I was taking a walk, as I often do at lunch time on the few days when it’s not pouring rain, and I found myself facing a huge temptation. No, I wasn’t standing outside a doughnut shop. It was worse.
I was standing in front of a car dealer. Parked there was a brand new car — with the key in the door.
I looked around, thinking this must be some kind of mistake. The attendant must have forgotten to take the key back to the office.
Then I looked at the car next to it. The key was in that door, too. The situation was the same with the next one. And the next one.
Then I saw a new truck, unlocked with the key in the ignition and the motor running.
I stood there. It was the classic scene, with the little devil sitting on one shoulder and the little angel on the other.
“Take it,” the devil said. “Just hop in one of those babies and split. By the time they notice, you’ll be halfway home.”
“Not so fast,” the angel said. “What happens when the police catch you — and they will.”
“Yeah, but it’d be a lot of fun,” I told the angel. “I haven’t committed a felony in a long time.”
“Make that never,” the devil said. “Face it, you’re a wimp. Come on, live a little. Go for it!”
“You’ll regret it,” the angel said. “You’ll end up in jail, and you’ll have to explain what an idiot you were to the judge, your wife and your kids.”
“They already know I’m an idiot,” I said. “I’ve proved that many a time.”
As it turns out, my most idiotic acts have involved cars. Like the time I fell out of a car — while I was driving it across someone’s yard.
Or the time I tried to launch a car over a snow bank.
Or ….
You get the idea, if it has tires, I can’t think straight.
“So, champ, what are you going to do?” the devil whispered. “Are you going to assert your masculinity and have some fun? Or are you going to tuck your tail between your legs and walk back to the office?”
“Are you going to do the right thing, which is nothing,” the angel chimed in. “Or are you going to ruin all that you stand for, in the eyes of the community and your family?”
“Well, since you put it that way,” I said. “Maybe I ought to hold off. At least I can sit in one of these cars.”
I picked a $42,000 truck, took the key and opened the door. I was just getting ready to slide behind the steering wheel, when a guy tapped me on the shoulder.
“Can I help you?” the salesman said.
“No,” I said. “I was just looking.”
Carl Sampson is a freelance writer and editor. His books,
A Bushel and Peck and Arctic Sunrise, available on Kindle.
