Dirty Laundry

Pickpocketed at Disneyland

Forgive me blogees for I have (I want to say sinned but that seems much too harsh) transgressed.  It has been several weeks since my last blog entry.  This sounds like the start of a confession, which, I guess, is what blogging is all about.  If done properly.  Though I am never one to do things “the right way.”  A proper blogger would write daily but I am a slow writer and a slow reader and, thus, a slow blogger. 

The self-help gurus would say that this is “negative speak” and therefore a self-fulfilling prophecy.  I should be saying “I am a fast writer”  “I am a fast reader”  “I am a fast blogger.”  I should be repeating this to myself in the mirror.  So that I program my mind for the positive rather than the negative.  The funny thing is, I believe that.  I believe that you can alter your habits if you try hard enough.  Focus on the positive.  Doesn’t mean I practice this.  Just that I believe it to be true.  Which makes me, what?  A hypocrite?  A fool?  Lazy? 

I have been busy unpacking boxes (the move was officially official two Mondays ago).  Also, been writing like a maniac.  But the move has been good.  Cleansing.  The new place is peaceful.  Once all the chaos has calmed it will be a good writing place, I know it.  A good living place.  It’s already started feeling that way.  Like home.  Which is fast for only being here one week.  I know I moved here two weeks ago but we spent a week at Disneyland (a graduation gift to my step-son). 

And so, I get to the subject of the title of this blog.  Yes, I was the idiot who carried his wallet loaded down with cash and all of his credit cards and most of his ID in the back pocket of his loose shorts so that any five-year-old could lift it right out without me noticing.  Crowded summer amusement parks where you are bumping into people all of the time are great places to get your wallet taken.  I should know this.  I am alway super paranoid about my “stuff.”  I always carry my wallet in my front pocket when I visit NYC.  Or leave it in the hotel room and just carry cash.  And cash in several pockets so I can hand over a nice wad of bills to any mugger and still keep my ID (because that is the biggest hassle of all - losing money sucks but the time spent having to replace all your credit cards and drivers license and health cards, etc, etc. is the big pain in the ass).  I am the guy who checks the doors to make sure they are locked several times every night.  Put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the hotel room every time I go out.  Leave the television on so it will sound like someone is in the room.  Hide my passport in my dirty clothes rather than the safe because I’ve had money stolen from hotel safes before.  They might go into the safe, but will they venture into my dirty socks and underwear?  That is my logic, anyway.

And still, I carried my wallet in my back pocket on Space Mountain and California Screamin’ and The Haunted Mansion and the Grizzly River Run rides.  And when I went to reach for my money to pay for my Bengal Barbecue Beef Skewer, there was no wallet to be found.  My heart did a Tower-of-Terror plummet with the realization.  Suddenly I hated all of humanity.  I pictured the ass goblin who was going through my wallet with glee at the score he (or she) had made.  I went on a tear calling up my bank, my wife calling up the credit cards, and having everything cancelled, cancelled, cancelled. 

It takes me some time to come down from things like this.  My anger, frustration, self-flogging sticks in my throat like a burr.  I am a slow recoverer.  (“I am a fast recoverer”  “I am calm under stress” “I let go of anger easily”)  And so, once all the business of having something stolen was taken care of (filing a report, canceling the cards, eating my now-cold beef skewer) I spent the next several hours going over the entire scenario a few dozen more times.  Because there’s nothing like reliving a violating experience like that over and over again. 

Anyway, I’m home now.  The last of the pieces having to be picked up.  Licenses to be reapplied for.  Phone calls to make.  That sort of thing.  Content that everything else on the trip went right.  Our boy had a great time.  We did too.  Our planes landed safely.  None of the rides derailed.  No food poisoning.  Or life threatening things.  Just a wallet. Stolen.  Replaceable.  Life is still good.

 

Posted by Don Calame on 7.17.09 at 07:58 am in Prattlings. (0) Comments