lost & found & part 2

It’s no secret I wasn’t a fan of 2012.

On New Year’s Eve I spend the morning reflecting on the challenges of the past year.  I recognize that I spent much of it struggling to not be consumed by The Dark Cloud.  My Facebook feed is full of gratitude for 2012 and heartfelt wishes for 2013.  I’m not ungrateful, just keen to move forward.  I make my own FB post sharing my eagerness to slam the door on the year.  As I hit the ‘Update’ button, I hope I’m not tempting fate in the final ten hours.

Sonuvabitch.

I’m off to pick up the cake I pre-ordered for the New Year’s Eve dinner; I look in my bag and there is no wallet.  I feel around the corners of its cavernous depths.  Bagels.  I have an epic WTF moment.  If you don’t know the routine, you can imagine the steps; with each step the panic rises.  The contents of the bag get dumped.  I confirm the inventory is short, significantly.  I hunt through my room.  I hunt through the house.  I mentally retrace the steps since I last saw it – movie theatre, parking garage, car, home.  I’ve got 50/50 odds.  I call the theatre.  I dump my bag again as I make my way through the prompts seeking a live human.  Andrea kindly explains that high value items aren’t kept at the Guest Services Desk and she’ll have to wait for a manager to return and check the office.  The manager will be back in half an hour.  In my current state, thirty minutes feels like thirty years.  I call my friend who did the driving.  He checks the truck twice.  Nada.  Breath is hard to come by, I drive down to the theatre.  Nothing has been turned in.  Aw shit, now I have to do the inventory.

My sister reminds me I’m a ‘everything in the wallet’ gal.  It’s not about the credit cards and the bank card; that’s top of mind when you lose a wallet.  It’s the treasury of personal details out there that you can’t put a block on.  The coffee loyalty cards all one punch away from being redeemed.  My health card.  Shit, the Princess Margaret Hospital card is still in there from when I had to do the mammograms.  My actor’s union cards.  My library card.  My alumni card.  My California driver’s license.  Not one thing with a current address or phone number.  I’m overwhelmed at how difficult it will be for someone to track me down, and yet relatively easy to impersonate me.

I make the requisite calls, shed a few tears of frustration and update my FB status.  I put on a shiny top and brush the dust of 2012 off my knees.  I pick up the cake with the reserve credit card.

“Well played 2012” I mumble through my bloody and swollen lip.  I may be down, but I am not out.  I am quietly optimistic that my wallet will turn up.

On New Year’s Day I find messages from Katie G on the family phone.  The number was on my hospital card.  I didn’t know that.  I hadn’t thought to check the phone because I don’t use the number.  I remember all the crazy emotions that came with getting that card.  So thanks to my knotty boob and PMH, I got my wallet back.  And I’m reminded that we never know how things will work out, but they do.  I won’t find everything in 2013 that I lost in 2012, but I’ve already found so much more than can fit in a wallet.