Ex Penna

So there I sat in the front seat of my car, shoulders slumped yet every muscle tense and quivering.  I stared off blankly, looking into the rest of my evening, the rest of my week, with guilt and remorse, apologies and excuses.  The lights flashed in a chaotic display around me.  Yep, I was gonna get a ticket.

Now this may not seem like a big deal to some of you but I was in a tight jam and couldn't afford to give away any extra money.  Before you say it, yes, this was giving money away.  It was after 11:00 PM and as I was leaving my day job to start my night job, I went under a very fast yellow light at the end of a high arched bridge.  I passed under it just as it was turning red.  My ticket was over $250.00.

That's not to say that I didn't do my very best to avoid it.  As soon as I stopped, I grabbed the pentacle from around my neck and held it tight, clutching to a hope that in a few minutes everything would be fine.  I asked the Gods--nay, begged, pleaded, cried--to help me, to be kind to me, to fix this however a divine being can and I'd be so, so grateful.  By then, the cop was walking up to my car.  I tucked away my pentacle (just in case it mattered to him), dried my eyes, and tried to look casual as I rolled down the window.  I hoped the Gods were working on it.

They were not.

I know they weren't because I wouldn't have either.  I acted like a baby.  I begged for mommy and daddy to come outside and make the mean neighbor kid go away.  The gods aren't interested in us that way and they don't want us humiliating ourselves.  They don't care about our whims--and this, sadly, was a complete whim--anymore than we care about those of strangers.  They watch us for fun, they walk among us to learn and to teach, but they interact with us on a personal basis for their own purposes and not ours.  Unless you have become a pet favorite of a god or goddess, you are no more special than any other voice crying their name.  If, like me, you were extra whiny about it, prepare to be a lot less special.

So the gods didn't help me.  They didn't even look up from their ambrosia.  There I sat, sad and sorrowful, wishing for a miracle that wasn't going to come.  And why should it?  I was pathetic!  They might pity me, sure, but most likely they were disgusted.

And you know what happened?  That cop threw the book at me.  He got some notion in his head that I was the bust that would make him Sergent and took me out of my car, searched it, searched my purse, and was about to pat me down until I refused (remember, ladies, females can't get the pat down from male cops).  Just about then, another cruiser stopped by to check things out.  Now there were two cars--with all lights ablaze--and four cops looking me over like I was a mafia kingpin.  I was four months pregnant at the time.

They rolled up the tube of lipstick in my purse and flipped through my notebook.  They opened the positive pregnancy test that I still carried around with me.  I started to feel very exposed.  Then my boss drove by and I could see his wide eyes as we recognized each other.  The cops found nothing and I was horribly late to work where I then had to explain to my boss what happened and why he shouldn't count this against me.  This was a terrible night.



Okay, so we all have bad times.  We all have experiences that were going to be horrible no matter what we did or said, but that doesn't mean that some well-placed magic can't still help.  Had I been prepared and not frozen with worry, I would have seen an opportunity to use the right kinds of magic in the right places to soften the blow that was being dealt to me.  Had I stopped whimpering and offered something real, maybe the gods would have taken an interest.

All this happened when I had just turned 20, so I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on myself.  But it took me years to realize that what really stood in my way was the desperation I felt in the situation.  I don't like cops already and getting pulled over sends me into the closest thing I've ever come to panic attacks.  I was grasping at straws when I called on my patron deities.  Thing is, though, that they don't like being your straws.  They, like mortals, want to be treated respectfully.  They do things for you because they want to, not because you're so pitiful they feel sorry for your blubbering mess.  If you want something, you better use an extra large dose of respect and decorum--and that includes presents.  The gods enjoy promised gifts and if you know the kinds of things they like best, you're definitely going to get noticed.  Make a bargain with them.  Be kind and persuasive; be enticing, but be strong.  Show them that you are a business partner as well as your other roles as student, worshipper, disciple, and--occasionally--groupie.

Had I had the wherewithal to do things right, this is how I would've turned the whole night around:

1. Brief, straightforward prayer to my patrons with a promise of an offering if they help

2. Brief prayer to a god/dess, ancestor, or spirit who is specifically linked with my problem

3.  Spoken charm to Retain the Right

4. (As soon as the cop's face is in view) A mental push on him to recognize me as the kind of person deserving a second chance (exceedingly good, noble, or sexy--your choice)

5. (Before speaking) Charm to be eloquent

If I had done all that, I might not now be able to recall that night with such sickening clarity.  Sure, this all may seem trivial to some but giving up that money (and the insurance money paid out because it was a 3 point offense) was a very big deal at that time.  Even to this day, tossing away $250 for any reason would be insanity and I can't think of a soul who can afford it.

The point is that being prepared will save you from panic and panic is the kind of things that absolutely kills magic.  The Gods won't touch it, the spirits see the weakness and won't obey, that great flow that usually surges up through you when you cast will only trickle--if it even comes at all.