For twenty-seven years, Gael's life could be summed up as a wretched and bland existence.
For him, it wasn't superstition; it was documented statistics. If it rained, Gael knew a car would drive over the only puddle on the sidewalk just to splash him, soaking him and only him. It was a physical law. So, when he woke up that morning to his phone's alarm, he felt a profound sense of unease. Something was terribly wrong.
Gael sat on the edge of the bed, analyzing his surroundings with paranoia. He stared at the ceiling, expecting the upstairs neighbor's pipe to burst like it had last month. Nothing. He headed to the kitchen, pulled out a slice of sandwich bread nearing its expiration date, and smeared jam on it with mechanical gestures. As he turned to grab the coffee, his elbow brushed the plate.
He watched the slice fall in slow motion. His brain, trained to predict misfortune, calculated the trajectory instantly. It was going to land jam-side down, ruining the cheap rug he had in his place.
But the bread hit the floor with a dull smack, bounced strangely against the chair leg, and landed... jam-side up.
Gael stared at it for a full minute, completely frozen. He picked up the bread, blew off some non-existent dust, and took a bite. It was delicious. Still, his analytical mind refused to accept it. It's just a statistical anomaly, he reasoned. The universe is reloading ammunition to hit me harder. Since he was alone in his tiny apartment, there was no one else to observe. He couldn't realize that the balance had already begun to take its toll outside.
He needed supplies. Instant coffee and something for dinner. His bank app showed a pathetic balance of 2.50 dollars. He decided to walk to the corner supermarket. He knew a trick with the old ATM on the next street over. Sometimes, a system glitch would let him withdraw 10-dollar bills. He could overdraw the account before the network registered it. It was a dirty, desperate move, and his only option.
He put on his worn coat and went outside. The day was a leaden gray. He walked to the ATM, a rusted machine embedded in the wall of a closed pharmacy. A few meters away, a man in an office suit pedaled calmly on his expensive road bike.
Gael inserted his card into the slot. He typed his PIN with the agility of someone used to begging machines.
"INSUFFICIENT FUNDS," the screen flashed in red letters.
He let out a sigh of resignation. Typical. Gael moved to press the cancel button, but for some reason, his finger slipped. Instead of canceling, he hit the "Cash Withdrawal" button and then the "Other Amounts" option. The screen froze in an endless loop.
The machine started making a strange noise. A deep, metallic, internal clack-clack-clack. It was as if the gears were having a panic attack.
"Come on, spit the card out, you piece of garbage," Gael said, banging the side of the machine with his fist.
Right as his fist struck the metal, two highly improbable events happened at the exact same time.
First, the ATM screen turned from red to bright green. Then, a message flashed: [DISPENSER ERROR - MAINTENANCE MODE]. The cash slot suddenly opened and began spitting out fifty and hundred-dollar bills at full speed. They weren't just coming out; they were being spat out. They were launched onto the sidewalk, as if the machine were sick and needed to purge itself.
Second, three meters to his right, a horrifying metallic CRACK! was heard, followed by a scream.
Gael turned his head. The man on the bicycle hadn't crashed into anything. Out of nowhere, the central nut holding the front tire of his high-end bike snapped. The wheel flew to the left. The metal fork dug into the asphalt. The momentum launched the office worker into the air.
He did a full flip and landed face-first against a metal trash can. A brutal and loud landing.
Gael stood frozen, bills falling over his shoes like green rain. He looked at the machine, which stopped after dumping a massive wad of cash. Then, he looked at the poor guy on the ground, who was groaning while clutching his bloody nose. A couple of pedestrians ran over to help him.
His brain tried to process the scene with scientific coldness.
Event A: A defective ATM had just given him over a thousand dollars in cash without registering it to his account. Probability: astronomically low.
Event B: A high-end bicycle had a severe structural failure. This occurred in a straight line, with no obstacles or excessive tension. Probability: equally low.
Gael crouched slowly and started gathering the bills with trembling hands. He stuffed them into his coat pockets until not a single one more could fit.
He looked at the cyclist one last time. He was alive, cursing the bicycle factory.
Gael didn't feel guilty. Why should he? For twenty-seven years, he had been the guy falling face-first into the trash. He had been the guy whose things broke. If the universe, for once, decided someone else would be the punchline, he wasn't going to complain.
He squeezed the bills in his pocket, feeling a cynical smile creeping onto his face. He didn't put the pieces together completely. Not yet. He only thought that, for the first time in his life, today was his lucky day.
He turned around and walked toward the supermarket. He was going to buy good coffee, Colombian coffee.