Some of us are prone to losing things. In my case, the things tend to be my phone, my keys, my car, my credit card. I don't know if what they say about elephants having great memories is true, but if it is, I want a memory like an elephant.
"Trunkey" from the Detroit Zoo could be inserted into "talking
storybooks" that would then tell you about the animals. Maybe
it's because elephants never forget, but Trunkey has managed
to keep tabs on me since I very small. Graphic: Teece Aronin.
I once wrote an entire blog post about losing my keys. My favorite part of writing that essay was recounting what actually came out of my mouth one of those times I was searching for them. I was going out for the evening with my old boyfriend, Prickly Pete when I realized my keys were missing. Frantically I dispatched the kids, whose complete buy-in to the cause was gained by shutting off the TV. As I opened and shut drawers, cupboards, closets and jewelry boxes, Prickly stood there, perplexed.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why don’t you just keep them in your purse?”
“What, are you nuts?” I hissed, “Then I’d never be able to find them!”
You know you’re getting desperate for material when you start quoting your own blog posts, especially the ones that make you look like a ridiculous screw-up.
But I make a good point (twice): Losing things, even things that should be perfectly easy to track, happens; it happens to all of us - especially when we’re distracted or under stress.
There aren’t many stressors worse than divorce, and years ago, while in the middle of one, I lost a cell phone inside my car. It would ring out from some dark, unreachable, invisible recess, and not even my kids, elfin enough to be jammed between the seats, could see it, much less recover it.
Then there are the things you’d think are too big to misplace, for instance, the car you lose your cell phone in.
One day, gal-pal, Tina and I went shopping. Carrying our bags to the car, we realized that we had no idea where we’d parked because we weren't paying attention. As we made our way up and down aisle after aisle, row after row, I noticed we were being followed by a car. Every time we turned up another row of cars, he followed us. If we slowed down, he slowed down. When I stopped to tie my shoe, he stopped too.
“Don’t look now,” I muttered from the side of my mouth, “but I think that car is following us.”
“You’re kidding!” Tina gasped.
“No, I’m not kidding. Just play it cool and don’t get close to it.”
The car pulled up even closer, and the passenger side window went down. Tina and I froze. A middle-aged man leaned toward us, and we held our breath.
“Excuse me, ladies. I was hoping to get your parking space, but you have no idea where your car is, do you?”
“No, sorry,” we confessed, and he drove away. The smart thing for him to do would have been to drive us around the parking lot until we found my car, and then take the space. Men just don't think sometimes.
The other day, I lost a credit card – in the middle of the Lansing Convention Center. I was there for a conference with my boss and some coworkers. At the end of the day, hundreds of attendees were reconvened in the main ballroom. One of the event organizers stood at the podium, his image simulcast onto two huge screens on either side of the room.
“We have a lost credit card,” he announced. “Is there a Patricia Aronin in the room?”
“Oh, my word!” I yelped, jumping to my feet. “That’s me!”
I started toward the front of the auditorium and several people shouted, “No! Behind you!” I turned around to see a woman walking toward me, reaching out to hand me back my card.
I sat down in the nearest empty seat, and heard a soft ping inside my purse. It was a text from my boss:
“I'm glad that tattoo artist was honest,” I texted back.
“Must notoriety follow you all of your days?” he asked.
Oh, I hope so.