Windchimes

circles

I should be finishing a paper that's already late. I've got to type this story somewhere, I couldn't have made it up.

Got to campus early this morning, to work on this paper (due at 9:30a.m.) in one of the computer labs instead of at home so I wouldn't have to rush to campus after finishing the paper and pray to God I'd find a parking space close enough to walk from, to get to class on time and unwinded. Twenty minutes before the lab opened, so I sat in one of the chairs across the hall, pulled my glass case from my purse, put my glasses on, redeposited the glass case and organized my notes a little better. A couple of minutes before the lab opened, I stepped outside to have a pre-writing session smoke, taking along my bag o' books and, I'm sure, my purse. Finished my smoke, went back into the building and into the now open lab, settled myself in front of one of the computers in the second row facing the door, opened the document and started in on it. That was somewhere between 7:40 and 7:45 a.m. At 8:45, my mind refused to continue without another nicotine fix, so I took off my glasses and reached for my purse and the glass case. I looked to the left of my chair. I looked to the right of my chair. I looked under my chair, under the computer tables, around the room. I stepped outside the room to check around the chairs across the hall. I went back to the steps where I'd smoked. No purse. Maybe I'd left it in the car? I headed in that direction. Not there. I called my daughter's cell-phone to tell her someone had taken my purse right out from under my feet while I worked on my paper. I remembered pulling my glasses out of the purse as I dialed. She advised me to check all the trash cans in the vicinity, as people generally figure the credit cards will be canceled before they can abuse them and just take the cash, dump the purse in the nearest receptacle. I felt a little silly, walking around pushing trashcan lids and peeking in them, not silly enough to not do it. No purse. Walked over to the building across the quad to tell my professor I'd be missing class, and my paper would be late(r). He grimaced and emitted a sympathetic "oh no" and told me to email it as soon as I could, then bring in a hard copy as soon as I could. Then he wished me good luck getting my purse back. I was sure I'd have the paper ready to email before dinnertime. Hah. On the way back across the quad, I ran into Patrick, a classmate from that class who is also a classmate in my poetry writing class, who also took one of the same classes I took last semester. I told him someone had stolen my purse as I worked in the lab on the paper we had due this morning. He wished me luck. I went back in the entrance close to the lab, couldn't resist taking another look, no purse. Told myself to just go home and start reporting stolen debit and credit cards. On my way through the building toward the doors close to the parking lot, I ran into Heather and Chris, some more friends. Told them. Heather offered to buy me coffee and asked what the purse looked like so she could beat someone over the head with it if she saw them with it. Asked me if I'd told our professor or if I wanted her to tell him. Asked me if I'd looked in the trash cans upstairs. Nope, hadn't tried that. Might as well. No purse, but Della was up there, sitting at a table, studying, in all probability, her Spanish. Della convinced me to sign up for the same yoga class she signed up for this semester. I told her I'd be missing yoga today and why, and what I was doing up there. She told me they'd just emptied the trash cans around the area. I said see ya later and she said good luck.

Time to face it. I had to start calling banks and credit card companies. I drove home and immediately called my husband. He agreed, I needed to start calling thirty minutes ago. Looked up the needed phone numbers on the net. The second person I talked to advised me to report the theft to the police, so I'd have a police report. I called the police department, someone told me they could come here and take down the notes, or I could come there. I went there. They asked me if this had happened in the city. Yes, the campus is in the city, but if it happened on campus, I need to go to the campus police. Had to find out where on campus to find the police. A lady behind the counter in the Public Safety building directed me to the basement of the same building that houses the Human Resources and Financial Aid departments. I talked to a very nice sargent who asked me what the purse looked like, what the wallets looked like, and if there was anything valuable in the purse. I realized then, I'd lost my passport, my social security card, and the 500 euro Air France voucher I'd gotten when they bumped me off my flight from Paris last year. Listed the various i.d.'s, credit and debit cards. He gave me a business card with an official case number penned beside his name, office and fax numbers. He thought maybe the DMV would issue a replacement for my stolen driver's license, no charge, if I'd promptly reported it stolen and had the case number to prove it.

That done, I went back home to find a bite to eat and regroup. While there, my sister called to talk about the now speedily impending closing date on the contract Dad signed to sell the house yesterday, to try to figure out how we'll get everything moved out of the house and done something with before the beginning of March, and to share our worries about how much he'll try to do even though he's going in for a heart cath on Monday. Hopefully, a "simple" heart cath, worst case, angioplasty and a stent. Either way, he can't be straining and lifting and stressed with moving out. Going to be up to my two sisters and I, and when they can, our husbands, to get this all done over the next four weekends. We had to strategize. I had to tell her about my purse. As we talked, I figured my next best move would be going to the social security office for a replacement card. Last time I needed to do anything at the social security office, they'd needed my birth certificate, so I hunted it up. When I got there, a crowd of unhappy looking folk crowded the lobby. I scoped the room, saw the numbered-ticket generator, took a number, took a seat. And sat, and sat, wishing I'd thought and brought a book. But after only a little over an hour, a lady behind a paneled window called the number on the ticket in my hot little hand. I handed the birth certificate to her, sliding it under the window. She took it and told me they couldn't issue me a new card with only the birth certificate for verification. The birth certificate only verifies I was born and they can only use it to issue my original card. I needed something to verify I was alive. A driver's license? Gone, I told her. Do you go to a doctor in the area? Yes. Your best bet is to ask for his signature on some medical records. Fortunately, one of her fellow workers behind the window happened by and told her that she could give me a print-out that would be enough verification, along with my birth certificate, for the DMV to issue me a new driver's license, which I could bring back so they could issue me a new social security card. She smiled as she told me that was her husband, and he always enjoyed setting her straight. I thought I liked him quite a bit too, at that moment.

Clutching my social security office print-out and my hunted up birth certificate, I drove to the DMV, hoping the campus police sargent was right. Hoping I wouldn't have to wait an hour plus before I could find out whether he was right or not. Yay, a receptionist faced the front doors, an information stop on the way to the next sit-and-wait to hear your number lobby. I learned there's a five dollar fee to replace a lost license, whether it got lost because someone stole it or some other way. Ok, now to figure how to get some cash with no i.d.

Thinking Eddie, my daughter's boyfriend, would be back at the house, studying for his English class, I headed back there intent on asking to borrow five bucks, and maybe a little extra for some gas, for the car. He wasn't there. I called his cell-phone, told him what I'd been up to since he saw me this morning when I'd come home purseless. Said he'd be there as quick as possible, with some cash. Such a sweetie. I waited and remembered I hadn't eaten yet, so wolfed down two hot-dogs. He hadn't arrived yet, so I thought it a good time to check my email.

I'd gotten an email from Heather, subject "purse." Clicked. Click. She told she'd seen a poster saying that a purse had been turned in to the Chemistry Department, and thought it might be mine. A janitor had found it. She included the phone number in the email, may she win the lottery and a luxury car. I called. It was my purse. I said I'd be right there. Called Eddie to advise on the dwindled urgency of the situation and vroomed back to campus, smiling at everyone. There'd only been 15 dollars in cash in that purse this morning, so how much, besides time and one class period, could I have lost?

The secretary in the main office of the chemistry department smiled charmingly as she handed my purse to me. I checked for anything missing or added. The fifteen dollars were still there. Everything was still there. No ticking bomb inside, either. One of my elementary school teachers told us to always be careful about saying someone stole something. I still don't know what really happened, and I don't want to believe what the evidence suggests. I would like to limit my conclusions to a restoration of a belief that people are generally wonderful, and I need to guard my purse more carefully.

So all's well that ends well, I suppose. I'm even almost finished with my paper now. I'm writing about a short story in which the main character's main concern seems to be her handbag. No, really.

J.H. Larrew
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