I can’t make this stuff up. Really.
Just a few weeks ago, I experienced a relatively harrowing adventure when I lost my blackberry at the local junkyard. It, once again, recalibrated my faith in the innate goodness of most Muggles – even Salvage Yard Folk. Chalk it up to karma or whatever you’d like, I’ve certainly been the beneficiary of some good turns lately, which leads me to the following story.
A colleague of mine at work retired a little over a month ago, and I was unable to attend his farewell luncheon because I was still at home
playing hooky recuperating from a small surgical procedure. I sent him an email expressing my regrets, and promised to take him out for a meal myself when I was back at work and he available.
Yesterday was the day we were able to get together. He dropped by the office, and we drove in Daughter’s Cabrio over to the local Corner Market Deli. Since it was a Friday, the place was packed and, after ordering our food, we grabbed a table outside on the back patio.
What ensued was a pleasant meal together during which we commiserated about getting old, feeling crappy, not being millionaires, and dealing with rust in classic cars.
It wasn’t all complaining, you see.
Since I am still employed (for now), we had to wrap things up after about an hour so I could return to the Salt Mine and the latest Crisis of the Day. My friend thanked me and had the good fortune to be able to climb back in his car and continue with his retirement.
I spent the balance of the afternoon on the phone, peeling other Muggles off the overhead when they became upset over minor project transgressions, and answering emails.
Not soon enough, it was time for me to go home and, since I was the last one in the office (again), I locked everything up and descended to the parking lot. But before driving off, I checked in my gym bag to verify my wallet was there.
Then, in quick succession, I checked my jacket, desk, Daughter’s car, the restroom, the entire office.
This was not good. I started to have that sinking feeling that, this time finally, I had really done it and lost my wallet forever. Though I was more disgusted with myself than upset, I began to go through the mental checklist of the credit cards I immediately needed to cancel and the forms of ID I would have to apply for anew. It was certainly going to be a hassle, but worse things were possible.
Whether that was Zen-me thinking or just a function of being worn out at the end of a very long year and a half at work, I didn’t panic. I may have used some choice words, but then I began to realize that none of the credit card banks had called my cell (which I hadn’t lost — yet) to query me about suspicious activity.
Maybe there was hope, but I would not allow myself to believe.
But before driving home, I figured it would be prudent to call the place where we ate lunch just on the off-chance that some good Samaritan had found my wallet and turned it in.
Instead of describing what happened next, I’ll just say I have a brother-in-law who, despite his best efforts to the contrary, always seems to come out all right, no matter what the situation. On my wife’s side of the family, they say “his bum lands in the butter.”
Well, yesterday, my bum was covered in butter, as my lovely Spouse reminded me. She also recounted that I have either misplaced or actually lost my wallet on numerous occasions throughout the years, and it always manages to reappear, as if by magic. She claims I have a Guardian Angel watching over me, and I don’t necessarily disagree anymore. Maybe it has something to do with all the talismans she’s packed in my pockets, as well. I just don’t know.
So, what could have been a disaster turned out not to be, and the manager of the deli had no idea who turned in my wallet — whomever turned the good deed will remain anonymous.
In the end, I guess what goes around does, eventually, come around. And I feel fortunate today.
By the way, I will test this theory tomorrow, since I spend my morning refereeing soccer.
Along with the Gatorade, I plan on throwing into my cooler a stick of butter, just in case.