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Passports lost = 1

March 21, 2007

I lose things all the time. I have probably 20 lighters ‘in circulation’ at any given time, but often I have to go in search of one. Every time I wrap a package, I buy a new roll of tape because I have no idea if I have any or where it might be. I’ve solved my lost socks problem by buying 2 dozen pair, all the same kind at the same time and throwing the old ones away. Not only do I never miss a missing sock, but I spend no time matching or sorting, so I pat myself on the back for practicality.

One might think I’m a scatterbrain, but that’s not true; at least it’s not true when I’m firing on all cylinders. I don’t care about the lighters or the tape, so I don’t exert myself tracking them. But when we’re headed out the door for the bank and R says, “where’s my bankbook?” I can give explicit directions, and I’m not even the bankbook’s keeper.

Once when I was in college, I opened my cupboard to discover an entire loaf of bread was missing. I was disproportionately distressed about that bread, because it wasn’t where I knew it was. By the time my roommate came home and told me that she’d thrown the bread away because her cat had been gnawing on it, I’d already searched the house (including the basement and under the couch.) Not because I thought I might have put the bread under the couch, but because if it wasn’t where I’d put it any alternative location seemed possible.

Slightly more important than a loaf of bread, my passport has never been something that I need to look for. Much like my foot, I just know where it is – always. So today, around the fourth time I re-affirmed that R had his passport (I mean, he does forget where he puts his bankbook, after all) he demanded that I produce mine. When I opened my wallet, it’s absence was so shocking that I closed and reopened my wallet three times, then checked the zippered compartments so small that a passport would have to be cut in thirds to fit. Nope, nada, zilch.

Things have changed since college; I didn’t look in the basement. I did call a friend with a very messy car to see if it had fallen on her floor, and when she said no, I didn’t believe her.  R kept saying the most ridiculous things, like, “It is here, you just have to find it.” IT’S NOT A ROLL OF TAPE! If it wasn’t in my wallet, it was gone. Not that he was all positive – it was well mingled with angry comments about how someone could lose something so important.

But because he kept yammering about it, I thought to pacify him I’d browse through various important paper piles. When I still didn’t find it, panic finally set in and I cried a little. Disgusted with my lack of positive thinking, he went upstairs. He said something I couldn’t hear, so I went to the base of the stairs. While standing there, I fiddled with a National Geographic laying on the bookcase. Do you know where this is going yet?

Right. My passport was lying under the magazine. Two things are important to note. First, that particular magazine has been in the same place for 6 months. Second, I NEVER hide things. I might put them away, but I don’t think under a National Geographic can be considered ‘away.’ All I can think is that I must have put it there on my way to the street market (I never take anything of real value with me because it’s very crowded and I look like a tourist) when I was lacking sleep and running late.

That my passport was lying there under a never-touched magazine is as likely as that I’d find my loaf of bread under the couch. But this time, I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to blame it on a cat.

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One comment

  1. You still haven’t learned anything from your Sherlock Holmes. The likelihood your PP was precisely there was at least 100%. Your not understanding that reduced the likelihood of your finding it to less than 0%. Live – and hopefully learn.



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