Moose in the Kitchen

Nothing gets the adrenaline rushing on a lazy Sunday morning like realizing you’ve lost your wallet. Getting ready to meet someone at Tartine for Butter, Guzzling Thereof, I went for my money (butter ain’t free you know) and it wasn’t where it should be. So I checked everywhere it shouldn’t be and…nothing. No wallet, no cash, no ATM card, no driver’s license, no wad of receipts dating from the Mesozoic era.

As an aside, why do these things always happen 15 minutes before a first date? When you’d prefer to arrive cool and collected, rather than gasping for air and asking for smelling salts as you clutch your date’s lapel? Half an hour before a first date a few months ago, I decided to check my mail on the way out the door. Waiting for me was a package from my ex. This package contained old mail and, inexplicably, three wine glasses. One of which had broken in transit. So I  literally put my hand into a box of broken glass. Right before meeting someone for the first time. Luckily he was late, so my hand had a chance to stop seeping blood.

Anyway, my wallet. I wanted it. So I could buy things. Buying things is very important this time of year.

Panic was just beginning to melt into fear when I remembered Last Night. (Yes, the title caps are on purpose. Because it was an Event.) It generally takes about an hour to get from San Jose to my neighborhood. Last night, it took two. Because the SFPD, in its infinite wisdom, set up an alcohol checkpoint at what is probably the WORST POSSIBLE SPOT IN THE CITY AND MAYBE THE WORLD, YES I’M TALKING TO YOU PEOPLE WITH YOUR LITTLE FLASHLIGHTS WHO KEPT ME UP WAY PAST MY BEDTIME. Namely, right at the end of a freeway exit that’s slow and impossible to escape under the best of circumstances, never mind the ill-conceived worst. By the time the officer asked for my driver’s license, I was so exhausted I couldn’t remember my name or where I kept my wallet. I rooted around for it, showed him my license, and blearily tossed my wallet in the general direction of my purse. After a two hour car trip, twenty minutes looking for a spot, and facing another 15 minute walk to my door, I’m lucky I took my head with me when I got out of the car, much less anything important like money or, say, my shoes. (Luckily, they were tied onto my feet.)

Knowing where my wallet was: Good. Sinking realization that my wallet had been sitting in my car all night and half the day: Bad. My neighborhood is reasonably nice – pretty houses and blooming bougainvillea – but it’s also the scene of the infamous pepper spray incident. I’m not a runner and my seventh grade PE teacher can testify to this, but I flat out booked it to my car, making a 15 minute walk in under seven, praying the whole way – some might call it hyperventilating – that there wouldn’t be a shower of glass surrounding my car.

In the scheme of things, losing a wallet and having to replace a car window is not the end of the world. Not even the end of an era or the end of my sanity. But sometimes you just don’t want to have to deal with hours of paperwork and filing a police report, you know? Especially when Christmas and a trip to Tahoe are looming. Driving to Tahoe without a window ranks relatively high on the Official Roster of Not Fun Activities.

But my car windows were blessedly whole. And my wallet was perched on the emergency brake, balanced exactly in the center, like it was taunting me for my lack of faith in its loyalty and in my (hoodlum) neighbors. I might have kissed it.

My wallet was back in my good graces for a grand total of twenty minutes, until I got to the cash register at Tartine and realized I was 31 cents short and they don’t take credit cards.

Related posts:

1. Step Away from the Vehicle
2. Welcome to My World
3. Thirsty Work
4. When Disorganization Can Mean Jail Time
5. That Lesson Is: Buy More Shoes