Dilemma (di-lem’-ma): Offering to an opponent a choice between two (equally unfavorable) alternatives.
I was strolling through life, oblivious to its pitfalls. I was 26 and the worst thing that had ever happened to me was crashing my remote-controlled model airplane into an old man in a wheelchair. The crash started the dominoes falling.
The propellor sliced off the end of his nose. It became infected and killed him. I was only 17, but I was arrested for manslaughter, tried and found not guilty. I immediately bought another radio-controlled airplane which I mistakenly flew into a baby carriage, disfiguring the baby’s face. I was arrested for causing grievous bodily harm. I was found guilty and it was judged that I pay restitution to the tune of one-million dollars. My parents disowned me and threw me out onto the streets of Chatham, New Jersey. I was required to pay $500.00 per month or go to Rahway State Prison for five years.
Pay the compensation or go to prison? These were the options offered to me. Neither was good. I was stuck. I begged the baby’s parents to let me off the hook—I would mow their lawn and shovel their snow. I would clean their house, stand guard on their porch at night, and wash their car once a week. I even offered to do their laundry. They called the police and accused me of harassing them. A restraining order was issued. Under the terms of the retraining order I was allowed to stand across the street from their home and yell and wave signs—I created a nearly endless list of things I could do as substitutes for paying the one-million dollars. None of them were acceptable to the parents, so I decided to go to prison, almost by default. In five years my “debt” would be paid. How bad could Rahway State Prison be?
I was young and healthy, so I was made into a prison “Punching Dummy.” Every day the older inmates took turns beating me up. Most of them were in their late 70s so their punches didn’t pack much of a wallop. In fact, a ninety-year-old inmate died hitting me in the face. I got used to being beat up every day and the five years flew by. Part of my perception of how fast my sentence went was due to the brain damage I had acquired due to the daily blows to my head.
I was released from prison with two-dollars in my hand and wearing a “graduation” track suit that said “Rahway State Prison 2025” across the back. I was also given a pair of flip-flops. Even though it was December, I appreciated them.
Now it was time to resume my blissful life. As I walked down the street, I was whistling “Zippity Dooh Dah.” I was feeling blessed, even though my face was badly scarred and I limped a little. I looked up to give thanks to God and I bumped into a toddler holding hands with his mother. The toddler fell into the gutter and was run over by the cab his mother had summoned—that they were waiting for.
The mother went crazy and pulled a little semiautomatic pistol out of her purse and shot me in the forehead. Clearly, I survived, but the quality of my life is diminished. I have lost all of my senses due to the bullet’s trajectory into my head. I can still walk, but I’m having to learn sign language. Since I’m blind, and I can’t hear, it is a big challenge. But at least I’m still alive. Sometimes I think I would be better off dead. My doctor agrees and has applied to provide me with assisted suicide in a state where it’s legal.
The woman who shot me was found guilty of attempted manslaughter, ordered by the court to pay me $500.00 restitution, and she was sentenced to 6 months probation and 20 hours of community service.
I have obtained a seeing eye dog. I have named him Bullet. He is undergoing training as a tracker. We will find her.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.
The Daily Trope 