So nobody picked it up by mistake, or turned it in.
My purse was stolen.
The only card I was carrying was behind the bar on a tab, with my id, and my iphone’s sim card tray was having issues staying in, so I’d pulled it out and put it back in a little cheapo phone. So I have those. I’m not ungrateful.
But the following is now gone. The only copy of my car key. Meaning I’ll have to pay someone to rip out the whole lock mechanism and put a new one in. My house keys. Two legal files I’d carried home that day, which includes my home address and license plate number, and the proof of my graduation from that lovely little set of classes I took this summer, meaning that if I’m ever called upon to prove I took them, I won’t be able to. I’ll have to take them again. (They shred your file upon graduation, for privacy reasons.) My iphone. Yes, my beloved Gala, the only camera I owned after my camera died this summer.
And a host of little things, that it’s so annoying to be without. My favorite crochet hook. The little green alien that Bethany and I won at the fair this summer. Aspirin, makeup, mints, Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. A gorgeous red clutch I bought at a yard sale. My favorite comfy flip flops for walking home. My sunglasses. And of course, the bag itself. GAWD, I loved that bag.
But I didn’t cry until I realized that I’d lost one tiny, insignificant little piece of plastic. And then, oh, I cried.
It was a room key for a hotel room in Chicago. I had this stupid little superstition that if I ever really needed to, as long as I had that key, I could go back, somehow.