After a Thursday night date with my boyfriend last week, I arrived home and realized my wallet was missing. At that precise moment, I realized my susceptibility to lunacy was much greater than I thought–I freaked out. When a normal personal freaks out, they possibly yell and start hyperventilating…I, however, toss the apartment and run around the neighborhood with a flashlight; I call neighborhood security, bars and restaurants in the area, and my mother sobbing; Eventually, I scream to the heavens for a miracle and curse its wrath.
Now, why would I be so upset over a wallet other than the inconvenience that canceling credit and bank cards, waiting for a new driver’s license, losing my cash and gift cards, and buying another wallet would cause? It is a Coach wallet that cost more than I spend on groceries and utilities in a month. I would never have a wallet this nice again. Most importantly, it was a thirtieth birthday gift from my best friend and makes me feel special every time I take it out to pay for really cheap wine.
After nearly sixty-hours without sleep, I gave up. This afternoon, I crashed and awoke to a text and missed calls from my boyfriend who had been contacted by a man via Facebook. Apparently, my first name is oddly spelled and I am the only person one who spells it this way living in Manhattan. My wallet was found by an older man who asked his daughter’s boyfriend to try and find the owner. The young man who contacted my boyfriend had been trying to locate me for two days. Nothing was missing from my wallet..not a penny, but all I care about is that I have my wallet back.
The kindness and effort these people displayed restored my faith that there are angels walking among us…and they live in the Lower East Side.