The Karma Posse

I was a hundred miles from nowhere. My little rental car never needed gas, which was a good thing, it was late at night and I would not find a station for 200 miles, not that I was looking.

Instead I found a diner and I stopped and went in. There was an older gentleman sitting slumped over a cup of coffee at the counter and a young couple at a back table and that was it. A portly waitress called out that I could take any seat I wanted. There was a table, alone, near a window, looking over the empty parking lot. I sat down and opened my Ipad and checked to see if there was a Wifi connection. There was not.

The waitress came over, handed me a menu and asked if I wanted something to drink. Water and coffee I said and she was gone. Soon enough both beverages were sitting in front of me. I ordered a bison burger and shuffled through the music on the Ipads collection. Sometimes when I’m sitting alone in a diner I have time for reflection, but since I had been driving for hours, already too much reflection time, I needed distraction. That’s when the man with the haircut and glasses sat down across from me.

First, my bison burger was delivered and I took a bite, my water was refilled, I told the lumpy waitress everything was perfect and she was gone. I was chewing my second bite and the man in dark trousers and a white dress shirt slid into the seat across from me. He was white, thin, wearing horn rimmed glasses and looking me directly in the eye. He smiled as I chewed my mouth full of bison burger.

“How are you?” He asked.

I finished chewing. I took a sip of water. I realized there had been no movement in the parking lot outside of the window to my left. You get out into the deep country and the only way people travel, especially at night, is by car. Seems like the mystery man would have had to have driven into the parking lot below me to enter the diner. I would have to ask him about that.

“Where did you come from?”

“Not from around here, you?”

“Astrologically I’m an Scorpio.”

“The burger looks good.”

“If you’re here to steal my burger, that’s not happening. I’d be happy to buy you one, but I’d appreciate it if you got your own table.”

“Not that hungry friend.”

“Not sure I’m your friend.”

“Well, I’m here to help.”

There are few things in life one does not want to hear. “We found a tumor.” Might be one of them. For me, “I’m here to help” has always led to a lot of trouble.

The last time someone actually muttered that phrase to me, we ended up married and five children later, divorced. Here to help my ass.

I took another bite of my bison burger and looked the mystery man in the eye. He smiled.

“I’m with a group called the Karma Posse” he said. I slowly chewed my burger. I nodded. “Pretty simple really, when you think about it, we all rely on karma in some form or another to keep the world in balance. Bad drivers, people who hurt children, neighbors who steal garden implements and the guy who takes all the donuts at work functions.”

I cleared my throat. “So you guys beat up donut eaters?”

“I did not say that?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“We are very serious. Very secret. We keep the balance.”

“So after something bad happens and someone says, karma will get them?”

“We are that karma.”

“And you just happen upon people in diners?”

“Sometimes. How do you think karma works?”

“So what are you asking of me?”

“A name and an instance. Who do you know that has caused an imbalance.”

I took another bite. My mind raced for a few minutes. One of the worst things about not having any short term memory is that when something incredibly important happens in your life, or to a loved one, to a friend or worse, to a Harvard educated lesbian attorney, chances are it will not be remembered. When an episode that would require some karmic balancing does happen, chances are it has slipped into my mindless ether. Is there anyone I can think of who needs a visit from the karma posse? I did not think so.

“I can’t think of anyone.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I can’t think of anyone who has caused any sort of karmic imbalance.”

“Impossible. We do this, a lot. Never have we found someone who could not quickly name many people who needed something. Even a bike rider who ran a red light. Some people have lists.”

“Not me. I like bike riders.”

“It was an example.”

“Yeah. No. Not a single karmic injustice.”

“Impossible.”

“Seriously.”

“You’re telling me you can’t recall a single incidence, a dry cleaner who lost a shirt, a driver who flipped the bird, an ex-lover who took your cat.”

“Oh, now that you mention that.”

“Ah hah, an ex took your cat?”

“No, but I wish my ex had taken my cat. I think she has a urinary tract infection.”

“Think. There has to be some Karmic injustice in your life.”

“Well, I was driving today and saw about 7 state workers, all wearing those terrible loud glow in the dark vests standing around holding shovels, while one guy with a broom seemed to be doing all the work. The guys with the shovels were chatting, smoking and joking around, the guy with the broom was cleaning up all this mess.”

“That’s it, that is your karmic injustice? Lazy state workers?”

“Best I can do.”

“If lazy state workers were the sole job of the Karma Posse, we would be busy 24-7, no we don’t repair the silly karma troubles of the barely employed.”

“Well, I’m sorry, I just don’t recall anything else.”

“Finish your burger, I’ll be right back.”

He got up and walked out into the empty parking lot and appeared to be placing a phone call on his cell. I focused on my burger. I don’t understand why more people and places do not work with bison.

I looked out into the expanse of the parking lot and it was again empty.