One of my big neuroses since I was small has been losing things. I remember at 3 years old leaving my Dewey Duck stuffed animal in the bathroom at DisneyWorld and never seeing it again. Another time, I left my cherished stuffed elephant in a booth at McDonalds on a road trip to the Ozarks and my poor parents turned the car around and drove an hour back to get it for me.
I normally don't leave things anymore. Every time I exit a public location I engage in a time-consuming ritual of pocket pat-downs, purse-rifling, and seat-checking to make sure everything I brought, down to the last lipgloss, is safely with me. That is why when I left my phone in a bar last night I was so shocked and appalled at myself that I am still not over it today.
The worst part about leaving my phone on the windowsill was not that I didn't realize it was gone until I got all the way home (I live 5 minutes away). It wasn't that my boyfriend had to drive me all the way back to the bar and come in with me to pick it up (he was extremely nice about it). It wasn't that I was so worried someone would steal it (Carrboro folk are very nice). The worst part, kids, was that the kind bartender found my phone and immediately tried to return it to me by calling the number I had labelled as "HOME," which wasn't my home at all but my parents' house in another state. To my horror, he was on the phone with my dad when I ran into the bar.
My parents already think I habitually lose things of value. This was not helpful. I guess I really should be eating my organic sea vegetables, or maybe I just shouldn't drink margaritas in public places.
April 23, 2010
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1 comment:
Wow, I do the same patting down thing with my pockets, of course, with my pockets being big, sometimes small items get pushed back where I would not normally feel it, and the sinking stomach feeling comes hard, but its nice to know that when I empty everything out, it was safe and sound.
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