Empty Back Pocket

I lost my wallet.

There was no money in it, since I lost it on Friday, payday. And my Starbuck's card was in my front pocket. So I'm not out any money.

But what I did lose were my credit cards, my bank card, my GMSMA membership card, my PhillyPhisters membership card, my El Mirage membership card, my New York Bondage Club membership card, my supermarket $uper$avers cards, two photos of me and Special Guy taken at a photobooth a few years ago, assorted phone numbers of men I met in bars, my license, my insurance card, my registration card, and Lord knows what else.

I spent an hour on the phone with the bank and credit card people today taking care of that. I need to fill out a form and get it notarized (pain in the ass!) to get a replacement drivers license. I haven't begun to delve into all the other stuff.

Sooooo aggravating.

And I think I lost it at work. Which is sort of interesting. If it was found by one of my co-workers, they now have a lot more information about Dutch who works in the Hardware Department than they did previously. But, unless they want to admit to finding my wallet and not returning it, they won't be able to disclose that information. (And since I reported the loss to the Boss, it could mean he'd lose his job over it.)

Huh. "The Secret Sharer." Like Joseph Conrad's short story.

Beyond being aggravating, it's unnerving. I feel violated. And, if it was found, why hasn't it been returned? My faith in my fellow man is precariously poised.

Of course, maybe the finder dropped it in the mailbox, and it's making its way back to me, slowly, slowly.

Here's another interesting thing.

I believe there might have been one or two trick cards that Lolita made up for me a few years ago in my wallet. On the trick card is the url to this website. (What a mistake that was! I'd write about meeting somebody, and they'd read about me meeting them and what my impressions were, and about all my various and sundry ups and downs, and I'd wonder why he never called.) Sooooo... the finder of my wallet may be reading this (and so much more!) right now.

Huh.

How is it different to be spilling all my innermosts on the World Wide Internet than to have some unknown Doylestonian rifling through my wallet and perusing my weblog? I guess I ascribe a certain sympathy to my readers, hoping that they'll give me at least the benefit of the doubt, that I don't quite extend to someone who found my wallet but who hasn't made any effort to get it back to me.

Oh. And then there's the money issue.

No ATM card. My bank is open from 9 am to 3 pm, and I'm at work then. Except for a half hour off for lunch, which needs must be entirely devoted to feeding myself. How to resolve this conundrum? And, when I fly out to SF for my birthday weekend in two weeks, I'll have to use my passport to get on the plane. (Where is my passport? It's been years and two moves since I left the US.)

I once had my wallet stolen by a guy who gave me a blowjob in the backroom of a bar in NYC. Back when there were such things. Now that was annoying. But, when I worked at the needle exchange, I got to know and love several people who were not above distracting the dimwitted with a blowjob in order to steal a wallet, so I'm more charitably inclined in that case. And that thief dropped it in Tompkins Square Park, and the next day somebody found it, called me up and got it back to me, less the money that was in there.

But what of the person who found my wallet at my job, or in the parking lot of my bank in Doylestown?

What's up, Buttercup?

Given the sorry state of my finances, identity theft will avail you very little.

Give it back to me. I'll give you $20 for it. Deal?

---