My personal stance is that wishing, hoping or sacrificing a live chicken is irrelevant to swaying an outcome in my favor. I am no different than anyone else, as I’m prone to praying for things to turn my way, but channeling willpower towards a desired result is useless. Back when the New York Giants won the Superbowl, I wished as mightily as my heart could handle for that victory but, despite my efforts, the team never recognized my fortitude at the championship parade or awarded me a ring.
In playing devil’s advocate, I have been wrong before about assumptions that I considered a sure bet. I would have gambled my first born on Goliath winning as I heard the tale. I was also certain about a romantic connection with a stripper once but, alas, my remarks weren’t as witty as my wallet emptied and she went on to see other people. It goes against my better judgment, but perhaps there is a slim chance that wishing can change a circumstance to my preference.
Since there’s an ounce of doubt, I’m preparing a backup plan in case the unexpected occurs. Maybe there is some sort of Wish Genie floating around granting rare wishes. It’s human nature to crave simple pleasures like the grass mowing itself or for there to be ice already made in the freezer but, look at the bigger picture. On the tiniest chance that there is a supernatural force scarcely authorizing wishes, it’s asinine to waste any wish on something insignificant.
Could you imagine if I was given one shinning moment of fulfillment and I used it for pre-made frozen water? I could have been blessed with anything in the universe and I fancied cubes to cool down a glass of lemonade in the middle of winter. Eternal riches were within my grasp but an impulsive urge let them melt away.
Well as of now, all of my wishes will have a permanent effect. I still won’t believe they will be answered, but “genie forbid” I am wrong, they’re not going to be squandered on a temporary happiness. Say I’m at the Department of Motor Vehicles, rather than hoping for a short wait or that all the customers ahead of me disintegrate, I’ll wish to be the Emperor of France.
That wish treats my impatience, avoids crumbling innocent bystanders into dust, and has me chauffeured around from castle to castle drinking fine wine in the back of a limo. I've revamped curing a minor nuisance into living comfortably as a foreign aristocrat. A position as a figurehead of an elite European country solves my current hassle and improves my life long-term.
So my advice to everyone is, if you are sitting in your office cubicle around 3 pm and are desperately wishing for the 5 pm whistle, please reassess. That’s skipping a measly two hours and you still have to return tomorrow. What if 3 pm was the one instant when your wish was destined to come true and it was blown on magically teleporting outside the office a couple hours into the future? On your commute the following morning, I guarantee you’ll be biting your lip in frustration that you’re not flying to superhero headquarters or constructing a play fort from an excess of gold bars.
A smart man is always investing into the future. Wishing a bit more would squeeze out of the toothpaste tube before heading to bed is fruitless by dawn. Shoot for the stars or risk settling for the booby prize is my motto. I am fairly certain this essay will not net me a billion dollars but, on the microscopic chance this wish is bestowed upon me by a higher being, I’ll be awfully glad this piece wasn’t named “I Wish I Could Trade This Essay for a Ham Sandwich.”