dragonlady7

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So in something of a rush this late morning, it came up that someone needed to run up to a tractor repair joint up in Valley Falls area (13.2 mi distant by Google Maps) to get a new (used) tire and new (in the box) tube put on an old (like way old) rim, so that the water wagon (it’s a thousand-gallon tank, which is no joke) could roll again.

So I went with Farmkid, because it’s unskilled work and she could be kept safely occupied. It’s just far enough that it’s a solid half-hour drive, you gotta pick one way or the other around the reservoir. Real scenic, either way, not bad traffic.

Now, I had no time to prepare, we were coming up hard against the time crunch of lunch and then Farmkid’s busy afternoon social schedule, but I managed to get myself and herself together– got my kindle so I could read to Kid while they worked on the tire, got her notebook so she could work on the novel she’s writing on the way there and back, since I could workshop it out loud as she’s composing– that’s the issue, she always wants input, and I’m usually busy with something else when she’s asking, but in the car, I’m a perfect captive audience!

So, anyway, I normally like more time to mentally organize myself for an outing, but we were doing all right, and I made my little plan– need to gas up the car first, as I hadn’t put fuel in it since Buffalo, BIL handed me a credit card to pay off the balance he’s got at the tractor shop, and off we went.

So we went to the Stewarts right around the corner, I put gas in the car in my usual method, put the wallet and notebook on the roof of the car, pull the notebook down and begin writing in it while fueling, take the notebook and wallet together back to the driver’s seat to write down the mileage, put the wallet on the passenger seat and the notebook in its compartment. But I was talking to Farmkid as I did it, and I remember specifically writing down the mileage but I don’t remember where I put the wallet, don’t recollect between talking to her and getting in the car whether I put it into my purse or onto the seat or into the notebook compartment…

[cut for length, though I know cut tags don’t come thru on crossposter, sorry]

So, you might have an inkling where this story’s going. As I was driving, I realized I’d forgotten to get Kid a mask; I have a spare I keep now tucked in the passenger sunshade, and I had to flip it down to see that yes, I do have a second spare up there, phew, so she could wear it.

Got to Temco, had Kid haul in the tube neatly in its box, carried the tire (heavy) and the rim (super fucking heavy) on my own, nobody in there’s wearing masks but there’s a hilarious sign. Hang on, I’m going to append the photo I took.

[image description: a photo down a cluttered aisle with a scuffed concrete floor. A sign is suspended on rubber tie-down hooks that has scrawled upon it in sharpie “I don’t want you to blame it on me” , preventing anyone from coming within six feet of the register. Behind the register, a gray-haired man with a long gray beard is seated, speaking on the telephone, and another gray-haired man with a long gray beard is standing a couple of feet away talking to him. (Neither man has a mask) There’s also a chalkboard in front of the register with announcements handwritten on it in chalk, including “Free kittens”, “seed rye”, “hard straw”, and “ask about BEEF”. ]

Howie, the guy who runs the place, is the dad of two women who were two of my sisters’ lifelong best friends, and has had that long gray beard since the 80s. The other gray beard guy is his best friend since small times, with whom my mother recently had some dealings– he’s involved in the caretaking of some local cemetery, and my mom as town historian has corresponded extensively with him but hadn’t met him in person until recently.

Anyhow, there was much debate about putting that tire and that tube on this rim, they didn’t think it would work, maybe it would, they called BIL, there was much disussion, eventually they said they’d work on it and see what they couldn’t do, and I said I’d go wait in the car.

Farmkid and I sat in the car and I was reading to her from my Kindle while she energetically climbed in and out the windows and such, and I suddenly felt my purse and realized I couldn’t feel my wallet in it, and then gosh, had I put it on the seat? I thought I’d put it on the seat, so I put down the Kindle and went to look.

Notebook’s in its compartment, but by itself. Car seat has crap on it but no wallet. Nothing on the floor. It’s definitely not in my purse. Well fuck.

I called Stewart’s and the manager picked up and said “oh gosh! I’ll go look and be right back and tell you if I see anything out there!”

So I’m sitting there listening to occasional background noise on the line at the convenience store, when sure enough Gray Beard Guy Who Isn’t Howie came out the door and asked if I could pull around the other side to get the tire into the back of my car. So I did, and of course my car’s bluetooth picked up the call and then when the Stewarts guy came back on the line he couldn’t hear me over all the car noises, so he hung up. Fuck. Probably it was a no, though.

So I got the tire, and said, “I can’t pay right this minute,” expecting some kind of fuss, but Gray Beard Not Howie (I think his name is John) was like “oh we’re really not worried, we know where you’re at”, so I drove away with no further ado, and Farmkid eagerly kept her eyes peeled the whole drive back to look and see if my wallet had blown off the roof of the car somewhere in this twelve miles.

It had not.

We stopped at Stewart’s, and I found the manager, who said regretfully that he had not been able to find it. I then had to explain to Farmkid that in fact no it was still missing, and I was in trouble– because sure, there was money in there, but there were credit cards that someone could steal, and also my driver’s license, which proves that I’m legally allowe to operate my car, and you can’t just go to the DMV and get a new one, you have to make an appointment and it takes months now what with the epidemic and all.

Farmkid, very sweetly and concernedly, offered to loan me all the money she had, which was “a gajillion dollars!” (I happen to know she has about thirty dollars in a piggy bank.) I thanked her and told her it was very sweet of her but it wasn’t necessary, I just was going to be in trouble if I needed anything on my drive back to Buffalo.

So we got home, a bit late but still in time for lunch, and BIL quick went and paused his credit card– apparently it lets you suspend it so it’s still active for like, recurring payments, but can’t be used for anything unexpected.

I was just mustering myself to figure out my bank’s phone number to see if I could do anything like that, when my phone, in my hand, rang, with a private number.

My phone number’s not anywhere on my wallet, so I thought it couldn’t possibly be related, but I answered, and it was a state trooper. He asked if I was me, and I said yes, and he asked if I was nearby, and I said yes, and he said “you lost your wallet at Stewarts”, and I said “I sure did, sir,” and when I told him where I was, he said “Oh, I know where that is, I’ll be right over.”

Sure enough, a state police car pulled into the driveway about five minutes later.

A retired trooper had found the wallet in the Stewarts parking lot, and had brought it over to the trooper depot just up the street. “How’d I find you,” he said, “that’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

“Kinda, yeah,” I said, “but I thought maybe Stewarts had my number in their call history.”

“Nope!” he said. “I just Googled you. You’ve got a lot of personal information online, on the public Internet! Did you used to live over on [road my parents live on]?”

“Yes,” I said, “does it have their phone number too?”

“Yeah, I figured I’d try that one next,” he said.

I sighed. “Well, I mean, that’s how it works nowadays,” I said. “And it worked out, this time.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but it’s sort of creepy.” He handed me my wallet, and said “Oh, see if anything’s missing.”

I unzipped it. “Well,” I said resignedly, “all the cash is gone, but I don’t expect the person who took it’s the one who turned it in.” I shrugged. “Times are hard, probably whoever took it needed it more than me, I’ll be all right,” which is true, but annoyingly, I did have kind of a lot of cash in there. Oh well.

I don’t have to figure out how to replace my license in this stupid pandemic, so I won’t cry over a hundred and fifty bucks or so. A couple of weeks ago, that would’ve been devastating, but– and i never used to carry much money, but my car got broken into a couple of times, and I just don’t have anywhere else to keep money since I live out of my car nowadays. So oh well.

But I am DONE for the day, I am not going to attempt to have any thoughts in my head for the rest of the day. Sheesh.