My friend Wayne Allen Sallee some time ago informed me of the "Curse of the Double Hockey sticks". I don't know if I should even try to explain it, and I'd rather Wayne do the 'splainin'. But it deals with the following number cropping up in one's life:
"1111". The old "Double Hockey Sticks" as they're called.
So after hearing about the "curse", I began to think about the important dates and addresses and encounters in my life. I could think of no obvious encounter, either for good or bad or neutral, with the curs-ed double hockey sticks. I told Wayne just that.
The next morning I walked into work. When you do the routine it all becomes robotic. So it is with me at my USPS job. Wake up. Shave. Brush teeth. Get dressed. Drive to work. Go inside. Clock in. Walk to case...
And there it was, staring me in the face as it has for several years.
My route number.
Route 11. Zone 11.
In no less than three places on my work station, the double hockey sticks. They've been there since the day I took over the route and I just had never taken a second look at them.
The only problem is the "curse" aspect. It's a pretty good route, all things considered. Much easier on my knees than previous routes, so I can't complain along those lines. My current management team allow me to do my job (well and efficiently, I must brag) without a lot of interference. So it hasn't been much of a curse, at all.
Unless, of course, one thinks of having to show up and work eight hours a day as a laborer. But I'm not complaining.
The job has allowed me to feed and clothe and house my family. It has allowed me to take decent vacations. It has allowed me the leisure time to write novels, one of which I've sold, and one of which has been optioned to the movies.
Well, not so far.
But there you are. The influence of Wayne Sallee's double hockey sticks.