I see no contradiction in having an unflinching faith in the odds favouring me and being a proclaimed atheist. I always bank on the favouring odds to bail me out of any trouble that I’m in.
Sometimes I marvel at how the odds almost always favour me. I am no psychic endowed with extrasensory powers. It is most baffling that the law of averages that cuts everybody down to size almost always leaves me untouched.
But not always, alas. My neighbour’s car was often locked in the jostling and pushing game with my vintage black Beetle for our scarce parking space. So his sense of schadenfreude was nourished no end when he realized that my prized possession had been stolen and his smile grew when it remained untraced for months together. He parked his new car where my precious Beetle once stood, to the admiration of all connoisseurs of metal aesthetics. I missed her. During our thirty-odd years together, she had been a constant support through the vicissitudes of my rather eventful life.
Her loss now nearly convinced me that it was finally the hour for the law of averages to catch up with me. The insurance company initiated the process to settle my claim.
Bitten by the bug of comparative consciousness I began to daydream of the latest model of a swanky car. Mentally, I even rehearsed taking delivery of the car, complete with my facial expressions.
But barely a day before I was to receive the claim cheque for the Beetle came unwelcome news. Probably unable to quench the vintage Beetle’s insatiable thirst for gasoline or his utter incapability in fixing the recurring snags in its rather esoteric mechanism, the thief had deserted it in a desolate spot.
The cops were at least successful in tracing the owner of the vehicle, if not the thief. My daydream of a new car never saw the light of day and I wondered if this time the odds had truly favoured me. An impromptu moan escaped this atheist’s lips: "Oh God! Why me?"