Today began like any other day. Waking up feeling totally rested after a dream of playing with a Norwich Terrier the size of a salt shaker and running from a Sherman tank, waiting in the chilly fall air on the corner near Mr. D’s Cuts and Styles, and riding into Minneapolis with approximately five hundred and fifty eight thousand U of M students aboard the 3B.
I’m the last guy to get off most days. Well actually, the past two days this week there has been someone sleeping on the bus and the driver has had to yell at them to get off (after which I have long exited,) but today I was again the sole remaining passenger when the 3B arrived at the last stop. I grabbed my laptop bag, stood up, and what did I behold but…
A wallet.
Placed neatly on the seat near the door, as if itself were a dainty passenger on its way into the city for a little tourism.
“Oh, don’t mind little old me. Just going to take in the wind-swept, urine-smelling sights of Minneapolis!”
And my, what a wallet. It was, to turn a fishing phrase, quite a lunker. It was a veritable leather-bound tome of cards, receipts, and who knows what else.
When I saw the wallet, lying there, fat and obscene on the empty bus, I immediately mentally quoted Francis from the Darjeeling Limited:
“Look at this asshole.”
You’ve gotta be some piece of work to leave a wallet like that just lying around. Must we, the Organized Elite, be caretakers for the entire world of you children? Good people, I ask you!
I contemplated, for a nanosecond, giving it to the driver. But to no fault of the driver’s esteemed character, I didn’t. I simply trust myself more. And so with a groan of irritation, I picked it up and shoved it, like an uneaten triple cheeseburger, into my jacket pocket.
I knew time was of the essence. If Mr. Lose My Wallet had even 8 oz of gray matter in his brain box, once his posture straightened out from the loss of weight near his ass he’d realize that he was missing his wallet.
Then would begin the Panic! On A Wednesday.
Once in the office, I pulled out the wallet and opened it up. I needed to scour its contents to find some sort of contact information.
What I found inside boggled the mind and bewildered the senses.
The contents of the wallet were extensive, yes, but they were also profound. They told a story. And while I knew I wouldn’t accept a traditional reward, I chose as my recompense the right to record the epic contents therein. For posterity of course!
I cannot do the contents justice with my own brand of douchey prose. Instead, I will let the wallet tell the story of the life of its owner. It’s a good one, and not without humor or heartfelt moments.
BEGIN ITEMIZED LIST!
I found the fortunes particularly poignant.
I used the phone number from the never delivered note of admiration to call Mr. Lose My Wallet.
“Morning, is this Mr. Lose My Wallet?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, my name is Eric, I believe you lost your wallet on the bus today.”
“Oh! YES.”
“I work in blah blah blah blah come get it…”
He was there in five minutes. I gave him the wallet, and he expressed thanks.
“How did you get my telephone number?”
“There was a note…”
“Thought so.”
He tried to offer me one of the twenties. I refused, and bid him good day.
It was lucky that he hadn’t the courage to deliver that note to the object of his affections, because it allowed me to find him quickly. However, it also gave me a twinge of regret to see it lying undelivered amidst the club cards and the folded fortunes from former meals.
I can only hope he wrote it the evening before, and would deliver it later that day.
Tags: assholes, bus, darjeeling, lost wallet, story, wallet
October 29, 2008 at 1:09 pm
Clearly he didn’t tell the lady that he had access to Celine Dion tickets.
Great story!
October 31, 2008 at 9:28 pm
The saddest part is that, what with Bakers Square filing for bankruptcy, he may never get his free pie.