Like most New Yorkers, I spend a lot of time on trains. Despite the downside – your butt against the crotch of someone you’ve never met – it’s the best way to get around this densely packed city. But frequently there’s not even an inch of spare room so on commuter trains you’re forced to put your stuff in overhead racks. But this is a Danger Zone! Because as easy as it is to shove bulky items up there and out of the way, it’s even easier to walk off the crowded train and be blissfully unaware that you’ve forgotten your stuff.
This happened to me a couple of months ago. I had a black canvas bag I’d bought on a trip to Vienna – a souvenir in and of itself – that I used to tote my iPad. I got on a packed train, bemoaning the fact that I was going to have to stand, when in the distance I spotted a free seat. I dashed for it like a musical chairs contestant and wedged my way in. Joy! But I had my purse with me – vast space hog that it is – and my Vienna bag. Deciding I didn’t need the iPad for the ride, up to the rack iPad and bag went. And there they stayed.
I didn’t realize I’d forgotten the bag until I got home. Oh, the despair! Berating my forgetfulness ten ways to Sunday, I filed a lost claims with NYC Transit and crossed my fingers. Truthfully, I was sure both were a goner. A week later, having not heard a thing, I went to the lost and found “just in case.” You know, in case there was a miracle, my bag was returned, and someone had just forgotten to call me. It was an adventure for sure. Boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff. Phones and umbrellas and Blackberries, oh my! Enough to supply the entire country. With a heart full of skepticism, I inquired from the woman behind the counter if there’d been any news of my lost bag. She disappeared into the Giant Room of Stuff, was gone for several minutes, and returned empty handed. Curses! The result I’d dreaded. Turning to leave I told her I hadn’t really expected it – my iPad was in there after all – and then she gave me a look. “Hold on,” she said, and disappeared again. This time she returned seconds later, and this time she had my bag. And my iPad. They’d been locked in a safe, which is why she didn’t find them the first time she looked. Whoo-hoo!!
I was absolutely, astoundingly elated. Someone had turned it in. A good, kind soul found my bag and turned it in. Of course, it could have been the conductor who found it, but I prefer to think it was an upright, honest New Yorker.
Yet the tale doesn’t end here. Fast forward to last week, Thursday night. I’m with a friend, in a bar. I have my purse, and my Vienna bag, iPad safely tucked away inside it. You know where this is going, right? Of course you do. I’m meeting another friend in another bar later, and suddenly I realize I’m late. Coat, scarf, gloves, purse. Bag is, once more, forgotten about. It’s déja vous all over again, and this time there’s a twist. Because the thing is, I don’t actually remember where my bag is. I don’t realize until I’m home that I’ve lost it, and then I can’t remembe where. I could have left it at work. I could have left it in bar 1. Or I could have left it in bar 2. Naturally I call around, but no one’s seen it. Argh!!!!! I can’t believe it! Am I really that careless? WTF is wrong with me? It’s a devastating feeling. I’m such a chump.
But here’s the happy ending part. On Saturday I received a call from a guy named Frank. He said he was in possession of a black canvas bag that says Vienna on it with an iPad inside. He’d found it at a bar and wanted to know if it was mine. I joyfully squealed. It is! But how did you find me? Well, said Frank, there was a receipt inside the bag for some items I’d recently purchased at a Passion Party. It had my cell phone number on it. So ….
Right. So. So Frank knew I was at a party where dildos a’plenty were for sale. And that I was the kind of girl who did that. But Frank? He’s as unjudgmental as they come. He’s just a guy, a kind New Yorker, who’d found a bag and returned it to its owner. And me? I’m a happy New Yorker who’s really, really thankful she went to that Passion Party. And who’s really really happy to have her bag and iPad back (again). Who believes in the kindness of strangers, who wants to do the same in return, and who vows to staple her bag to her forehead whenever she leaves home.
So, friends. That’s a Christmas story for you. Lady Smut style.