Bill Brabham was at home, contemplating the universe. All the ingredients for contemplation were present: dim lights, sad music, and hard liquor.

Bill was not a religious man, but he was starting to believe that maybe there really was a God after all, and that this God person actually hated him for some reason. He always considered himself to be a decent man, so he wondered why, then, has he been the victim of so much misfortune recently?

He had once heard someone say that he was “down on his luck,” whatever that meant. Well, here, alone in the dark and half drunk on whiskey, he was determined to figure it out.

It seemed to Bill that there ought to be such a thing as karma — the idea that what goes around, comes around. And deep in his gut, he thought that maybe there really was such a thing — probably not in a “mystical healing power of crystals” way, but maybe in a more explainable and rational way. After all, wasn’t it natural for others to help you and treat you more kindly if they saw that you, in turn, were a kind person? And, of course, if you were a known bastard, well, you could just manage on your own, couldn’t you?

Bill then reflected that somehow this karma thing didn’t always seem to work in a nice, even manner. After all, he had been a steady worker and a faithful and loving husband. Nevertheless, here he was in the dark, drunk, alone, and unemployed.

Bill’s whiskey-soaked brain reasoned that there must be a randomness to the universe that is beyond the control of men. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this randomness did exist, and its name was luck — and he was apparently down on it. He really hoped that he would be up on it soon.

After all, wasn’t there something called “regression toward the mean?” If you flipped a coin only three times, it may land on tails each time, but if you flipped it one hundred times, then the number of heads and tails should move toward 50/50. Bill had certainly flipped tails a few times lately and was really hoping that his luck would even out soon.

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In actuality, it was only a single, unlucky event that had caused all of Bill’s recent misfortune. He thought about it again and shuddered. He had been working as a financial analyst for a large hedge fund in Houston. Life had been great, and he had been making money faster than even his wife could spend it.

He had met his wife, Julie, there as well. Julie was also an analyst, but she specialized in fundamental analysis while Bill was strongest at technical analysis. They made the perfect complement to each other both professionally and personally.

If there was one sticking point in their relationship, it was their boss, Miss Trezzor. The reason for this was simple: Miss Trezzor was beautiful. Julie was good looking too, in a mousy secretary sort of way, but Miss Trezzor was good looking in a super model sort of way, and it made Julie uneasy.

To Bill’s credit, he was always the perfect gentleman and was always very careful to avoid anything that could be remotely construed as sexual harassment. Besides, as Bill was the first to explain at home to Julie, Miss Trezzor was a major bitch and trying to be romantic with her would be like trying to get cuddly with a porcupine. This view was reinforced by the fact that no one in the office even knew her first name.

And then one day it happened. Miss Trezzor had been in front of her desk tidying up some paperwork. Bill had walked into her office to ask for clarification on an assignment. As he had approached her, he had tripped on god-knows-what and had pushed into Miss Trezzor from behind, bending her over the desk with her skirt flipping up in an oh-so-indecent way. And then Julie had walked in.

It was as simple as that. Just one stupid mishap had ruined his life. And boy was it stupid, thought Bill, as if his life were some cheesy sitcom.

And like most cheesy sitcoms, no one had laughed at it. Miss Trezzor was particularly not amused. In fact, she was very embarrassed by the situation and also fearful of a potential lawsuit. In her mind, she felt that if she did not play hardball with Bill, then Julie would think that she was a willing participant, which would then expose her to legal risks. To prevent this, Miss Trezzor preemptively filed a lawsuit against Bill, which turned the severity of this stupid accident up to eleven, and made Julie take it even more seriously.

The end result of this one stupid event in Bill’s life had been a large settlement paid, a job lost, a divorce granted, and a reputation in the financial world ruined. Oh, and just now, Bill was vomiting on his shoes.