Excuse me a minute while I start crying. I just lost my wallet. In a parking lot. I know it was lost there because a manager of the local pet store said he had seen it on his way back from lunch but hadn’t stopped to pick it up. Because bright pink wallets look natural in asphalt parking lots, I guess. And, 15 minutes later when I checked, it was no longer there. Which means that one well meaning person could have saved me the aggravation of a trip to the DMV, the joy of 3 credit card companies reissuing my cards, and I could still have my gift cards. Goodbye, Gap. Goodbye, Bed Bath and Beyond.
Maybe someone will mail it back to me. Maybe it will be one of those lovely stories where I find it in the mail, in perfect condition, with a note attached saying that the finder wishes me well, no reward expected. Am I too jaded that I doubt that story will happen? After all, the manager couldn’t even bother to stoop and pick it up.
I’m trying to picture a scenario wherein I understand the actions of the manager. Here’s what I’ve got so far:
He works in a dingy pet food shop being mowed under by the big-box stores like PetSmart. He’s frantically trying to salvage his profits, which he has great need of at this time. His wife has just left him for one of his sales clerks, a 20-something in tight t-shirts and skinny leg jeans. She’s taken the kids, sued him for cruelty and bad breath, and the judge awarded her a fortune in child support. Because of that, he’s had to move to a tiny cockroach infested apartment previously rented by a drug dealer. The drug dealer left behind several “presents” for the new tenant of the apartment: a mysterious odor coming from the closet; a few bags of small white pills hidden in various patched-over holes in the wall which the Manager will eventually discover when he, himself, is arrested (but that happens later and so it doesn’t figure into our story). He also left behind a string of addicts who knock on the apartment door, incessantly, at all hours of the night. The lack of sleep has resulted in hallucinations, and as the manager walks back from his lunch break, he sees millions and millions of bright pink wallets lying on the ground of the parking lot. At first, he tries to pick them up. After all, only a cold-blooded fool would leave them out in public. But after trying to pick up several, he realizes that this is, yet again, a hallucination, and he stops trying.
That being the case, I can sympathize with the manager. Poor guy—he has enough on his plate right now. In fact, if I miraculously have my wallet returned to me, I’ll give him a couple of bucks. He can buy some ear plugs with it to get him through the night.