Canterbury Bells

Canterbury Bells
Canterbury Bells represent Gratitude in the Language of Flowers

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Lost and Found

I’m SUCH a loser. Now before you try to be kind and tell me I have some redeeming qualities, let me clarify.  I am a loser—literally.  I lose so many things.  Little things, big things, cheap, expensive, important and not so important, but still...
For example, I have a drawer in my jewelry box that contains only single earrings.  I have lost their mates. ( I’ve learned that as soon as I throw out the single, the other one miraculously appears,  in a purse or dangling from a necklace I haven’t worn in ages).

I’m also a leaver. Hats, gloves, scarves, jackets—anything not attached to my body has been left behind somewhere. I hope whoever finds my stuff enjoys it-- small consolation but I hope someone in Boston is now enjoying my favorite fuschia golf cap -- left in the women’s stall at the Boston Acquarium-- or someone in  Newburgh, New York has use for a SONY camera battery and charger which fell out of of carry-on at the airport.

I know now where the expression ”If my head weren’t attached...” comes from. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose Tim or Berta when they were babies.

Latest loss:  Last week I had an audition at the casting studio at noon and a Christmas party there the same night at six. Rather than drive the 50 mile round trip home and back, I decided to hang out at the beautiful Biltmore Shopping Plaza which was just a few miles from the studio.

I had lunch at the Cheesecake Factory and then sat on one of the picnic benches in the promenade—it was a beautiful day.  I made some phone calls and then went window shopping with a final stop at Macy’s. 

Hours later I pulled into the casting studio parking lot a bit early for party and thought I would review the monologue which I was a performing that night.  I had put it in the cover of my Kindle. No Kindle to be found anywhere.  Begins the frantic search and that awful feeling in the pit of the stomach...oh no, not again.  Under car seats, in purses, in bags on seat, glove compartment.  Then I remembered I took the Kindle to lunch with me in case I would read during my solo lunch.

No time to return to the Biltmore.  Frantic memory trace of my steps.  Only purchase was at Macy jewelry department where I bought a pair of earrings for my niece (sorry for plot spoiler if you’re reading this Alycin).  Do you know how hard it is to find a human...”enter your account number, your balance is,  your available credit is...”
Finally... a live voice. Customer service promises to call me should a Kindle turn up.

Then I call Cheesecake Factory. No Kindle there.  I talk to the nicest manager however...SO nice that I sheepishly ask him a stupid question, “I know it’s a long shot but could you please have someone check the picnic bench between you and Paradise Bakery?   This four hours after I sat on the bench...dream on.
 Sure, no problem! I’ll check with the Bakery manager too”.  This young man’s mother would haven been so proud of her son’s courtesy and kindness.

Then one more moment of panic. My credit card number is tied to the Kindle. What if an avid reader, an unscrupulous avid reader found the Kindle and with one touch of the finger starts downloading –every book he or she has ever wanted.  Charged to my card.

I make one more call...Wells Fargo. Please cancel my card.  I know that card is tied in to other automatic payments, but in my best Scarlett O’Hara voice I tell myself I will deal with that tomorrow.

Short story long:  Cheesecake man calls me back. Someone turned Kindle in to Paradise Bakery and he took  it to the mall office.

I think “Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus.”

After profound thanks and vowing to eat at the Cheesecake Factory once a week for the rest of my life (what a sacrifice) I go to the party worry-free.

P.S . What prompted this blog was the fact that when I left the house this morning I couldn’t find my favorite Chico jacket...I think I left it on the plane when our red-eye from Hawaii was cancelled.   See what I mean—a literal loser /leaver, whatever.

A final note to my son Tim and DIL Bette Anne:  I’m told grandson Kevin has loser “issues”.  Please don’t be too hard on him.  I think it’s in the DNA.

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