I have never been very good at keeping track of my shit, and as a result, I have become really obsessive with keeping track of my shit. Every time I leave a place I have to make a conscious effort to recall and locate everything I have arrived with, and as a result I cannot even remember the last time in my adult life that I have forgotten something somewhere.
But that is not to say that I have not lost anything in my adult life. No. Far from it, in fact. Instead I have this embarrassing tendency to lose things in my own home. Important things, particularly keys and credit cards and so forth. Now, when most people lose things in their home, they figure it’ll show up sooner or later, and as far as I can tell this is usually the case for Other People. But for me, if I am not able to locate my Something Important within a couple days’ time, it is forever lost.
I like to pretend I am haunted by imps or some other fantastical magpie, because the alternative is that I am really REALLY stupid. So stupid I could lose my own car keys in my house without ever leaving it. So stupid that I lost Dano’s car keys *in a completely empty house*, and did they appear when we unpacked everything we owned? They did not. Nor were they discovered by the landlord, nor were they in the car when we got it detailed several months later. Vanished. Or the $50 bill I lost somewhere between my car and my backyard (specifically, my apartment I walked through to the get to the backyard), where my neighbors and I were hosting a barbecue/jello-shot-a-thon. And actually, that one is yes, the least surprising of circumstances, but does not make me sound any less stupid.
Most recently I have managed to lose my wallet at our house, which is a real shame because I liked that wallet (I got it on my last trip to Chicago and it had Frankenstein on it, teehee), and also because, you know, it contained my license and medical benefits card and credit card and some ca$h. We had our garage sale yesterday, and I remember putting it in my back pocket right next to my phone, and I remember discovering it was gone a couple hours later, but I figured I had simply left it on my bureau or something, perhaps having removed it when I realized it was too bulky in the pocket. And we had shoppers I was distracted and awkward. Later, upon concluding that it was not actually on my bureau nor in my bag, or anywhere else reasonable, I thought perhaps I had left it in the garage. But now our garage is empty, and wallet? No wallet.
After some brainstorming with Dano and Lacey and Jim, the most logical conclusion I can draw is that it must have dropped out of my pocket in the garage, and it either found its way into a box and wasn’t noticed, or more likely, it was pinched by am opportunistic customer when it fell on the floor. As as humanist at heart, I really REALLY do not want to believe this, but so far nobody has swung by to return it.
Worst of all, if I had venture a guess, it would probably be our first customer. She was this older lady who took a bunch of stuff off our hands and sat down for awhile on a for-sale chair to rest before returning to her car, which had a handicapped license plate. I was running the show alone at that point, and it was a bit chaotic with stuff kind of all over the place, and if there was ever a opportunity, that’d be it, particularly since I may have sat in that chair while I still had it. But then she even returned later to catch the dregs, and if she were the culprit, I assume she would not really expect a second windfall wallet that was so easy to snatch and would more wisely opt to stay the fuck away.
My second guess would be this family, presumably an aunt and grandmother with two little boys, one of whom found their way into nooks of our garage, an incident that I can assure required a rather forced smile on my part when they came to extract the little shit. But what makes that such a shitty thought is that one of the little boys (maybe 10?) sat down next to Lacey and told her that his mom had died of a heart attack and was in heaven now.
So basically, the best accusation I can manage is an at-least-half-orphan and his cousin, or a handicapped old woman. With no actual evidence of any kind, and no detailed description, I can’t in good conscience file a police report since they may have been just two of the more memorable crews to swing through. Couple that with my well-documented history of losing things in my home when no strangers are around, or even that it’s possible it may just turn up somewhere bizarre in a few months, like a coat pocket.
Doesn’t really matter though, because no matter how long I wait to replace my ID and credit card, it is certainly impossible that it will turn up in advance of canceling the old numbers. So in a way, having an itchy trigger finger on replacing my identity enhances the likelihood that it will turn up sometime between tomorrow morning when I haul my ass out of bed 2.5 hours early to make it to the DMV before it opens, and the 4-6 annoying-ass weeks it will take for my new license to come in. And all my auto-pays will fail because the account will be closed. Fuckin. Awesome. Great.
Mostly, I’m just really pissed off and annoyed with myself because regardless of whether someone actually did nab it or I threw it away in a box or something, it was my responsibility to keep track of my shit. Had I done so effectively, I would still have my fucking wallet, but more importantly to my vanity, I wouldn’t be reminded of what an unbelievable moron I am when it comes to keeping track of shit.
9/26 – update
Yup, literally ten minutes after calling my credit card company to cancel the card, I found the wallet in our laundry room. I am a ridiculous person.