“Why am I sooooo unlucky?” is something a million people have said a million times, but in the case of Malick Tychandros, a genuinely unlucky guy, it’s warranted.
Bad things always happen to him.
Bird flys by? Poop incoming.
Car is running fine. Till it’s not.
Shoelaces? Untied.
***
Malickandreus Tychandros—or Malick, as his friends called him—was running late for his job interview. Well, technically, he’d be on time if traffic was normal. But he had long since accepted that traffic was never normal. At least once a week, he’d find himself stuck in a jam, forced into a detour, or caught behind someone who apparently mistook the gas pedal for a suggestion.
Today, he was really hoping it wouldn’t be one of those days.
Unfortunately, it was absolutely one of those days.
CLUNK.
CLUNK.
PHHHHSHHHH.
His 2020 Toyoga Branmby, which had been running perfectly fine yesterday, had just transformed into an expensive metal brick right in the middle of the road. And during rush hour, no less.
He had specifically chosen this car for its reputation for reliability.
‘Guess that was a bold-faced lie,’ he thought dryly, listening to the chorus of furious honking behind him.
Cars swerved around him, drivers glaring as they sped past. These people all had places to be, things to do, and now, thanks to him, they were probably going to be late.
Somewhere among them, a man who had also been on his way to the exact same job interview grumbled, “Just my luck!” as he got stuck in the jam Malick had just caused. Ironically, that guy even though he would be late, would probably make it. Malick? Not a chance.
‘Looks like I’m the one causing the delays today,’ Malick mused, somewhat amused. After a lifetime of what felt like constant bad luck, he had learned to roll with the punches. It was either laugh about it or complain endlessly, and Malick had long since chosen laughter.
He sighed, pulled out his phone, and made two calls.
The first: to the company, letting them know he’d been unexpectedly detained (which, honestly, was putting it lightly).
The second: to AMMA. It was already on his favorites list.
A few minutes later, a familiar tow truck pulled up. The driver leaned out the window, smirking.
“Shouldn’t you just get a better car by now?”
Malick climbed in, groaning. “Oh, trust me, I would—if my wallet wasn’t allergic to financial stability.”
The driver just laughed and took him to the usual garage.
***
The tow truck rumbled into the garage, Malick’s poor, suffering car in tow.
“Hey Chuck, look who’s back!” the driver called out, leaning out the window with a grin.
Chuck glanced up from under the hood of another car and smirked. “Malick! My favorite customer!”
Malick grimaced. “You know, you guys should really have a punch card or something. Buy ten repairs, get one free. At this rate, I’d probably have a platinum membership by now.”
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Chuck wiped his hands on a rag and shook his head. “It’s weird, man. The car itself is fine. No major issues. Every time you come in, it’s just little stuff—spark plugs, fuel valves, random things that shouldn’t constantly break down.”
Malick crossed his arms. “And yet, somehow, I’m in here at least once a month.”
Chuck shrugged. “Well, maybe you should just sell it.”
Malick exhaled dramatically. “Oh yeah, great idea. Then I can drive… what exactly? A bicycle? A pack mule? A Segwa?”
Chuck snorted. “I don’t know, maybe something that actually works?”
Malick gave him a deadpan look. “That’s funny. You have no idea. This is the more reliable car. The last one broke down every week—this one only does it monthly.”
Chuck stared at him, tossing the rag onto a workbench. “You’re joking.”
Malick shook his head. “Nope. That last car was basically held together with hope and prayers.”
Chuck let out a low whistle. “Damn. Alright, let’s pop the hood and see what this one’s whining about now.”
After about an hour of tinkering, checking, and muttering about “cursed vehicles,” Chuck straightened up.
Chuck wiped his hands on his greasy coveralls and let out a sigh. “Alright, so here’s the deal—looks like it’s just another minor problem. We’ll replace the faulty part, do a quick tune-up, and make sure nothing else is about to betray you on the road.”
Malick raised an eyebrow. “And the damage?”
Chuck tapped a few numbers into the shop’s computer. “Labor, parts… yeah, looks like you’re looking at about $162.”
Malick let out a long-suffering sigh as he pulled out his Vizex card. “Here we go again.”
***
Malick pulled into his apartment complex, his car making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a wheeze. He shut off the engine and gave the dashboard a light pat.
“Try not to die overnight, alright?”
The car clicked in response, which he took as either passive aggression or a desperate cry for help.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he headed toward his unit—only to pause when he saw a familiar figure hauling boxes down the stairs.
His girlfriend. Well, ex, apparently.
She was halfway through stuffing a duffel bag into the trunk of her car when she spotted him. Instead of looking surprised or guilty, she just rolled her eyes.
“Weren’t you supposed to be at your interview? And then the gym?”
Malick blinked. Wow. No shame. No hesitation. Just straight-up acting like he was the one with weird timing.
“Yeah, well,” he said, crossing his arms. “Car broke down, had to get it towed, spent a small fortune fixing it, so… kinda threw off my schedule. But hey, great to see you had a productive morning. Packing up all your stuff—what, spontaneous spring cleaning?”
She huffed and slammed the trunk shut. “I was gonna text you later.”
“Uh-huh. Lemme guess—we need to talk?”
She shrugged. “I mean, we do.”
Malick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lemme save us both some time. You’ve been cheating, you’re moving out, and I’m supposed to feel like an idiot for not noticing sooner. That about right?”
She shifted uncomfortably, which meant yes.
“Cool, cool,” Malick nodded. “And let me guess—he doesn’t know you’re actually a nightmare to live with right?”
Her eye twitched. “You know, you could at least act a little upset.”
“Oh, trust me, I am. But also? I just shelled out $162 to keep my car from dying again, so honestly? You getting out of my life for free is almost a win.”
She scoffed, muttered something under her breath, and climbed into her car without another word. Malick watched as she pulled out of the lot, disappearing down the street like a bad investment he’d finally cut loose.
He let out a deep breath and turned back toward his apartment.
“Alright. Time to see if anything in my fridge isn’t expired.”
***
The more Malick thought about his now ex-girlfriend and how she’d been cheating on him for who knows how long, the more he realized—he’d seen the signs. He’d known. He had just convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, things would turn around.
Now? He mostly just wanted to punch himself in the face.
‘Why do I keep making such dumb decisions?’
He sighed, yanked open the fridge, and surveyed the contents. Expired milk. Expired yogurt. A takeout box that might have been from last week but also might have been from last month.
And then, in the midst of all this biohazard material—
Beer.
“Guess dinner’s sorted,” he muttered, grabbing a can and cracking it open.
His ex had been a terrible cook. Most of their meals had come from FoodGrub, and every time he suggested she try learning, she’d wave him off with a dismissive, “I will! I’m just so busy with acting right now!”
‘Acting, huh?’
‘How much money did I drop on those lessons?’
How much had he spent supporting her, covering rent, buying food, making sure she could chase her dreams while she was busy sneaking around with some other guy?
He took a long sip of his beer, the bitterness fitting his mood perfectly.
‘That’s my problem, isn’t it? Always trying to be the nice guy. Always hoping things will turn around. But they never do. Do they?’
And just like that, he spiraled. Straight into the familiar pit of self-pity, beer in hand, overanalyzing every dumb choice he’d made.
At some point, he considered putting on some sad music. Maybe something dark and depressing. Maybe something goth like the Sisters of Mercies, really lean into the moment.
But before he could complete his descent into full-on melancholic beer-drinking protagonist mode, something slid under his door.
A flyer.
Malick stared at it for a moment, then down at his beer.
‘…That better not be for acting lessons.’