Sometimes I Lose Shit

So the other day I'm walking around beautiful downtown Vancouver, British Columbia, and it occurs to me that a fountain soda would be absolutely delightful. So I go to my local McDonald's (which I have visited with alarming frequency since returning from the vacation), and order myself a large soda. And when I go to pay, I have no paper money in my pocket. I had plenty of change, but didn't want to use that because the wife and I put our change in a jar and then roll it up and the next thing you know you got enough for the next vacation. I had just gone to the bank on other business like five minutes earlier, and when I was there I know I had paper money. But it's suddenly vanished. So I dejectedly settle up with coins and head home.

At the homestead I take every last thing out of my pockets, and there is simply no paper money. I know exactly how much I had, including a certain amount of US currency, and it's just not there. So whatever. I guess I lost it, it's probably on the street somewhere. Hardly the first time for me. The next day I go to the bank, cause I can't very well be walking around with just lint in my pockets. And I withdraw some cash, and I put it in my left pocket, and I put my bank card back in my right pocket. And as I do, I feel something, and sure enough it's my missing cash. I want you to understand, I searched for this money for like fifteen minutes. And my pockets are just not that big. I would be certain somebody was fucking with me, except there just wasn't any opportunity for anyone to do so. Plus, it's always been this way with me. I lose all sorts of things, all the time, in ways that beggar belief. I know it drives people in my life batty, and I feel for them. But believe me. It's no picnic from my perspective either. Constantly losing things blows. I assure you, if you ever find yourself with occasion to be waylaid or derailed by my seemingly singular ability to make important things disappear: it's hurting me more than it's hurting you.

My personal favorite (read "least favorite") recent episode of this ilk was a couple months back in Austin, TX. We needed a couple money orders for various band bills, so Trevor and I walked up to this grocery store a click or two down the road. We got the money orders, I tore off the stubs and gave them to Trevor (he holds on to them lest they got awol in the mail or whatnot), and we walked back to the hotel. When we got there, the money orders were nowhere to be found. Bear in mind, we made no stops, not even for a fountain drink. They were just gone. It makes absolutely no sense, but it's a gift I have.

I'm also good at dropping things. I'd talk about that for a while, but I've been prattling on so long I'm sure you're starting to think me a braggart.