Finders Weepers

Every five minutes.

“I lost my phone.”

“I lost my glasses.”

“Where’s the remote?”

Keys.

Wallets.

So this year, a very perceptive Santa Claus brought Karen a deluxe tracking system to keep track of all the things that we cannot find on a regular basis. It took over two hours of labelling and setting it up, including a long lecture on the importance of being organized and having a deluxe tracking system was a good start. When we finished, there were ten devices attached, never to be lost again.

Finally.

No more bullshit losing things all the time.

Up walks the Domestic Despot with a smile-turned-upside-down.

“What’s wrong?” I inquire.

“I lost the deluxe tracking system.”

On a very snowy night in Michigan, I once managed to lose my car.

Not on some busy street in a large metropolis.

In a two-table pool bar on New Year’s Eve out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing near it for miles. No houses. No businesses. Nothing. Not even a shed or a chicken coop.

I will not insult your high level of intelligence by insinuating I was not blitzed right out of my mind. (I know you are highly intelligent, because you are reading my blog and checking out my website).

So it is around two in the morning when I first attempt to leave and go home. I mean NO WAY IN HELL should I be driving. It is bitterly cold and the wind is piercing though my layers of clothing and my black leather jacket.

After at least four trips around the bar, after inspecting every vehicle in sight, including a little wheelbarrow planter by a mailbox, I shrug my shoulder and head back inside.

No car.

I go back in and order a few more drinks.

This bar stays open until 5:30 am and  “reopens” at 6 am. But if you happen to be in there, just swing your legs away so the boys can mop the floor.

All good.

The stale beer smell actually dissipates and goes away.

For about two minutes.

At four, I go back out and try again to locate my car, and once again my efforts bear no fruit.

No car.

I go back inside and order more drinks (big shocker there) and try in vain to recall every movement I made the entire evening.

Right.

I can’t even find a car.

At a two-table pool bar.

In the middle of nowhere.

At four-thirty I started to think of some kind of plausible exit strategy.

It is five in the morning, freezing cold, and I still have no clue where my car is.

To this day.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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