Oops! Accidentally deleted this post in the purging of “Epic Woe…” Sorry.

I went out to my car this morning and saw that I left the door not-quite-shut. Immediately, I thought that my battery would be dead, but this thought was fleeting as I soon saw a gaping hole where my car’s stereo used to be. Yep, gone. My glove box was also open, and there were papers and crap (not literal crap, of course) everywhere. Who knew I had so much junk in my car? Funny thing was, my GPS device was not stolen and was resting on the passenger seat.

The next thing I thought was, damn it, one of my favorite CD’s was in the stereo. I got out of the car and found the CD’s case on the ground next to my tire. I opened it and (of course) there was no CD inside. As if the people or person who stole my stereo would actually take the time to remove the disc from the stereo and carefully replace it in its case before setting it on the ground. Oh, well, I hope my thieves or thief likes Swedish death metal.

Good grief.

This story isn’t about me, nor is it really a tale of woe. Well, maybe it’s a tale of woe for some of the persons involved, but not for the person who told me the story, my friend Troy.

Troy and I both worked part time for a national bookstore chain. I was a recent college graduate, living at home, and wondering constantly about what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life. Troy was recently divorced, had an eighteen-year-old daughter, and lived in an efficiency apartment that was once an attic to an old home. He hailed from Memphis, was in his late 30’s, had a great southern accent, and wore his hair in a severe flattop, which belied his usual jaunty attitude. When we first met, one of the first things he told me, which endeared me to him immediately, was that every Wednesday night he attended anger management classes.

So, on with the story. Troy, at the time of this story, was in his early 20’s, still married, his daughter a mere 12 months old, and he had just bought his first house in Memphis. All this is to say he was strapped for cash.

One day, while working in the yard, Troy was approached by two male salesmen. They were selling encyclopedias, they told Troy. Troy explained that he wasn’t exactly in the market for an expensive set of encyclopedias.

“Oh, that’s no problem,” said one of the salesmen. “Just let us show you what we have to offer. There’s no pressure to buy.”

Troy finally succumbed and let the men inside his home. While Troy’s wife cooked dinner in the kitchen, the salesmen gave their spiel about their awesome encyclopedias. Then, when the sales pitch ended, one of the salesmen asked Troy, “So, how would you like to pay for these?”

“Listen,” Troy said, “I told you before you came in here that I’m not looking to buy any encyclopedias.”

Then the salesmen let Troy have it. Didn’t Troy care about his daughter’s education? Didn’t he want to provide knowledge to his burgeoning family? Wasn’t he, as the obvious head of the household, concerned with giving what was best to his family?

Troy said nothing. He eased off the couch and approached a nearby cabinet.

Troy’s wife saw what Troy was doing and started pleading, “No, Troy, don’t! Don’t!”

So, Troy did what any self-respecting southern man in his position might do. He opened the cabinet, calmly reached in, and then drew out a handgun, which he promptly pointed at the salesmen.

“Get out,” Troy said. “And leave them books.”

Did Troy actually say, “And leave them books”? Well, no he didn’t, he admitted moments after telling me this story, but I’d like to think that Troy was thinking this as the salesmen grabbed their books and fled his home.

Hello, my name is Mike…and I’m a Philadelphia sports fan.

I feel like there should be a support group for Philadelphia sports fans. Yesterday, the Philadelphia Eagles once again were defeated late in the playoffs, this time to the Arizona Cardinals in the Eagles fourth defeat in five conference title games since 2002. Why, Eagles, why must you tantalize me with possible success only to let me down in the end?

But of course, losing is no surprise in the world of a Philly sports fan. The Flyers, 76ers, Eagles, and the Phillies, who are in fact the losingest major sports team in the history of sports (they’ve lost over 10,000 games), have all at one time or another let me down.

What’s worse, in the football realm, is watching that other Pennsylvania team (whose name I won’t mention) win over and over again, just like their victory over the Baltimore Ravens yesterday. God!

These complaints are nothing new or novel, of course. Philly fans have suffered collectively for years. Just look at this awful article from Sports Illustrated, and you might be able to understand our pain. Don’t forget to click on the gallery and take a visual tour through “20 of the most spectacular failures in Philadelphia sports history.”

Yeah, I know the Phillies won the World Series this year (GO PHILS!!!), but it doesn’t make up for all those afternoons and evenings where I had to hang my head in shame after watching a Philadelphia team lose. Woe is me.

High school. One of my best friends, Chris, had been dating his girlfriend Rachel for over two years, which is a lifetime when compared to the usual impermanence of most high school relationships. But they were having some problems. In spite of this, however, the three of us spent a lot of time together. We would see each other in the mornings before homeroom, at lunch, and on weekends. Occasionally, Rachel would call me at home and we would chat. I wasn’t sure why they so often involved me in there plans, but my adolescent mind figured it was because Rachel in some way felt bad for me, as I was perennially single and particularly lovelorn.

I was wrong.

One Friday night, the three of us rented a movie and were watching it at Rachel’s aunt’s house, her aunt not being home at the time. Rachel was sitting between Chris and I on a large, wraparound couch. At some point during the movie, Rachel and Chris started cuddling. Then they started making out. So, pretty weird for me, right? Apparently not weird enough.

While Rachel and Chris were kissing, their eyes closed, Rachel deftly reached over and took hold of my hand and held it. When I realized what was happening, I jerked my hand free of hers. But she immediately groped for my hand and tried to hold it again. I pulled away once more, but this time I slid down the couch, putting enough distance between her and I that she could no longer reach me. Then they stopped kissing. I continued to watch the movie, my feeble mind wheeling, trying to understand what had just happened.

The next day Rachel called me at home. She was sorry, she said, for holding my hand. Part of me still considered the notion that she felt bad for me, and in some strange way didn’t want to exclude me from the whole kissing incident. But this thought was short lived, however, as she soon told me, after a prolonged silence, that she had feelings for me. But I couldn’t tell Chris. Please, I couldn’t tell Chris. Rachel then assured me that she would no longer call me and probably wouldn’t see me anymore outside of school. I was stunned, but also relieved. A month or two later, she told me, simply, “Mike, I don’t like you that way anymore.” And the matter was settled.

I kept my promise for years and never told Chris about the incident. But I felt bad about it. Then one afternoon, while talking to Chris on the phone–he and Rachel had long since broken up–I told him what had happened that one Friday night. His response: “Man, that must have been awkward for you.”

Yes, yes it was.

My sophomore English teacher in high school once gave the class the following advice (what prompted this advice, I can’t remember): Don’t ever break up with someone over the phone, do it face-to-face. That’s some pretty good advice, I think. We also read To Kill a Mockingbird.

Anyway, if you read my last post, you will recall that I was once dumped via a letter. That was pretty lame, but it was better than a phone call, I guess. I imagine being dumped via email is even more humiliating, but probably not as bad as being dumped via a text message. In case you are wondering, yes, I have been broken up with via email (sort of…it’s complicated) but haven’t received the dreaded text message dump (yet).

So, my faithful readers, if you are comfortable doing so, please feel free to share any woeful breakup stories you may have in the comments.

When I was in high school, I had a girlfriend. Her name was Audrey. I loved her; and in my youthful naivete, I imagined spending my life with her. But our relationship had been going sour. We had been arguing over trivial things and were constantly making amends with one another. One night in February, after a brief argument, we had driven her back to her parent’s house in silence. When she exited the car, she didn’t say goodbye, and she slammed the car door. I drove home, pensive.

The following afternoon after school, I was sitting in my parent’s basement. What I was doing, I can’t remember. Perhaps I was idly clicking away on the Internet or passively playing a video game. But I remember hearing the basement door open. The stairs creaked as, to my surprise, Audrey made her way down to the basement. She was wearing blue jeans and a downy white sweater. We exchanged hello’s, then she reached into her back pocket and handed me a sealed envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked.
She said nothing.
Suddenly, I knew what was happening. I was being dumped. My hands, still holding the unopened letter, trembled.
“I just wanted to give you that,” she said finally.
“Aren’t you going to at least stay while I read it?” I said, my voice cracking.
“I can’t,” she said, “Danielle is waiting in her car outside.”

I stared dumbly at the letter in my hands for a few moments. I was on the verge of tears. I looked at Audrey imploringly. Then the phone rang. I didn’t move to answer it. The ringing stopped.

“Mike,” my mom called from upstairs, “telephone.”

I picked up the phone.

“Hello,” I managed to say.
“Hey, man, what’s up!?” It was my friend Dave.
“Hey, Dave.”
“So, what’s going on? What are you up to?”
I started crying. “I’m gonna have to call you back. It’s a bad time.”
“Oh, Ok. Well, give me a ring, buddy.”
“Ok.”

I hung up. Audrey said she had to go. Fine, I said. And, with that, she left. I don’t remember calling Dave back.

Great timing, Dave.

First, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed in the comments to my definition of “ordeal.” Now, more fun with the Oxford English Dictionary!…

I won’t bore you will the complete definition of the word “woe,” but I will bore you with a partial definition and a few excerpts of English poetry that contain my personal favorite uses of the word “woe.” Consider this a particularly self-serving blog post. My apologies.

B. n. 1. a. A condition of misery, affliction, or distress; misfortune, trouble; grievous or sorrowful state. poet. or rhet. Freq. in phr. tale of woe, a narrative of (one’s) misfortunes. Now usu. joc.

Shakespeare, from Romeo and Juliet, Act V, Scene iii:

“A glooming peace this morning with it
brings,
The sun, for sorrow, will not show its head.
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

Coleridge, from Genevieve:

“Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
In Beauty’s light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your Voice, as Seraph’s song.
Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a Voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.”

Byron, from The Giaour:

“And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
Of passions fierce and uncontroll’d,
Such as thy penitents unfold,
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest
Within thy pure and pitying breast.
My days, though few, have pass’d below
In much of joy, but more of woe;”

Shelley, from Prometheus Unbound, Act I, Scene i:

“Ah woe!
Ah woe! Alas! pain, pain ever, for ever!
I close my tearless eyes, but see more clear
Thy works within my woe-illumèd mind,
Thou subtle tyrant! Peace is in the grave.
The grave hides all things beautiful and good:
I am a God and cannot find it there,
Nor would I seek it: for, though dread revenge,
This is defeat, fierce king, not victory.
The sights with which thou torturest gird my soul
With new endurance, till the hour arrives
When they shall be no types of things which are.”

OK, that’s enough of that. For my next post, I plan on returning to my own personal tales of woe; however, I am also toying with the idea of presenting a summarization of sorts of the ultimate tale of woe: The Book of Job (King James Version).

Good night.