I finally gave up on thinking my wallet would magically reappear and canceled the things of consequence contained there-in.
And I keep imagining the person who has my wallet utilizing its contents by going to the gym, travelling on Amtrak (thus accruing Guest Rewards for me) and visiting national parks.
Maybe I've changed someone's life for the better...or at least for one five and a single.
Tomorrow I return to my regularly scheduled worklife of writing and teaching and meeting about writing and teaching. Enthusiastic cheer!
My regular job is much more difficult than this one, but I'll take it any day.
PS I'm really tempted to switch the homepage here to a rival weekly homepage, but I don't know if the regular receptionist would embrace the humor.
Honey is leaning on the front desk and working a Tootsie pop.
Honey: Have you looked at the transvestite ads?
Ida: Oh, I've thumbed through them.
Honey: Did you see the one for Pamela?
Ida: Is that you?
Honey: I hate her. That girl gets on my nerves.
Ida: Oh.
Honey: We all hate her. "Best in Seattle," "Most Realistic Passing." She doesn't know anything.
Ida: There's always gotta be one.
Honey: I gotta pay for my ad. I'm broke. But this is all I do; I'm gonna have a pretty good day.
Ad rep arrives at front desk.
Honey: Okay, girl, you enjoy your day.
Oh, I am.
A man on the street just asked me if I'd like to join him in a "suspicion of wine."
He said he was from Boston.
I drove past Gilded Lily two times on Tuesday. The first time, the entire house had been chomped in half. Big ol' Cat, little shreds of whatever-sized boards were used in 1904: I felt like I was teeny-tiny and watching a popsicle-stick craft project be devoured. The second time I drove by, the house was gone-daddy-gone: the Cat sat on top of a pile of rubble, pushing bits around, while another guy ran the hose over the dusty bits.
From street-side, you can now see clear to the water and it is lovely.
In honor of this development of development and last year's Dead Pets, here is the Trail of Homes:
An Apartment in Denver, 1971
Don't remember this one, but it was on the airforce base. My parents got to live in officer housing under suspect circumstance. My grandfather would tell me about the squirrel that ran around the back fence nearly everytime I visited him. (My grandfather, I mean, not the squirrel. My grandfather no longer tells me the squirrel story because he is dead. [My grandfather, again, although it is likely the squirrel has also moved on.])
Status: Unknown
An Apartment in Provo, 1972-1973
I have no recollection of this place either, but my first word was spoken here. It was "outside." Oh, wait, I think we lived here when I was given the Ernie puppet that terrified me because it was only half of Ernie. This, I remember. Where had Ernie's legs gone? Where? Where? Nothing doing, birthday cake, I want answers!
Status: Unknown
An Apartment in Sumter, South Carolina: 1973-1974
I only remember boxes being stacked all over the place when we moved, but it was in this place that I ran into a door while running around in circles. I still have the scar, but it only shows up when I'm ferociously angry (it's on my forehead.)
Status: Unknown
The House that Used to be a Shed and was Covered in Ripple-y Aluminum, Moses Lake: 1974-1979
This house was ridiculously little, but it didn't seem so because I was so small. It was about the size of a flatbed-truck-and-a-half and featured carpets that were orange, brown, red, blue, yellow, and rust. The backyard had climb-able fruit trees, a rusty swingset, and an occasionally uncovered creepy well. We played all sorts of games back there, including SuperFriends and Star Wars (Erin always had to be Darth Vader). It was a good place to play, even though my dad once accidentally hit me in the face with a shovel. My mom made our playroom look like the Hundred Acre Wood, because she could do stuff like that.
Status: was knocked down after we built our new house; the site is covered with crops--wheat or alfalfa or potatoes or what-have-you
The Really Huge House, Moses Lake: 1979-1989
This house was as big as the last one was small. There was wallpaper everywhere, including this huge Bunny, Cabbages, and Carrots stuff in the downstairs bathroom. I had four different rooms in this house, there was a flood in the basement, and we used to roller-skate in the playroom (which had insane bear and rabbit paintings on it, courtesy Ma Mere).
Status: my father sold it in 1997; it now has the Worst Landscaping Ever, Courtesy of Eastern Washington
Three Red at the Snooty College in Illinois: 1989-1990
Two Blue at the Snooty College in Illinois: 1990-1991
Who doesn't love a dorm room? There were bunk beds! I think my 3 Red roommate lives in San Francisco now and is a writer. My 2 Blue roommate is a doctor and lives in, uh, Michigan? I once accidentally set off the fire alarm during a performance of a terrible play being held in the dorm's Great Room.
Status: Sure to be filled with other bright-eyed artistic types
The Grove Street Apartment, Evanston, Illinois: 1991
We had half of the second floor. This place was both great and wretched: just as it should be when you're in college. The doorbell indicator didn't work, so anytime it buzzed we had to run around all four entrances and figure out which door to open: back stairs? back elevator? front stairs? front elevator? The phone in the kitchen was mounted so high up on the wall that it inspired the dream featuring the telephone operator who said "I'm sorry, this phone can only be used by men. Tall men. Tall white men. Tall white men with good paying jobs."
Status: unknown
Blue House, Ravenna, Seattle: 1992
This was the first place I lived after I ditched college. I was mostly never there, but I loved walking home through the Ravine. Bunnies! Members of the SCA!
Status: now it's beige-y pink...I think
Little Brick House, Ravenna, Seattle: 1992-1994
I moved here with my boyfriend. This is the house that spawned Waffle Sundays, a still-popular cover band, and many an infamous cocktail party. There was a little wheatfield in the backyard from where the previous renters had bedded their garden with straw.
Status: no more wheatfield, but the house is still there
The Restored Apartment on Fargo, Rogers Park, Chicago: 1994-1995
The summer we lived here was the one that killed so many people that meat trucks had to be used to store bodies because the morgues were full. Also, when I looked at the apartment, the evicted previous tenants had left a huge bone with meat on it in the bedroom. We were vegetarians that year.
Status: unknown
House with the Nice Backyard, Wedgwood, Seattle: 1996-1997
Once a friend of ours was living in his van in our driveway and peed in the yard instead of coming into the house. I was not pleased. All attempts to simply and gently request that he not pee in our yard entirely disappeared when I came home from work, saw him among the Basement Dwellers and immediately yelled "Don't pee in our yard!"
Status: Ex still lives there, now with his brother
Crackville, Central District, Seattle: 1997-1998
My apartment was right over the entryway. I woke up one night to a sickeningly sweet smell and a headache. Stupid doorstep cracksmokers. On a different night I thought that a hot air balloon was being filled, but it turned out to be the running engine of, like, a Chevy Nova.
Status: still has yellow trim
Duplex in Lower Queen Anne, Seattle: 1998-1999
We got this apartment without even looking at it. It turned out to have two bedrooms that were connected. It was determined that I should have the back bedroom as I was trampier.
Status: demolished and became condos
Cafe House, Leschi, Seattle: 1999-2000
This house burned down. Not to the ground, but enough to cause destruction and mayhem. It's really weird to see what all your things look like burned up. The walls and ceiling of the main room were entirely covered in soot except for the spot where I'd hung an owl-shaped coat rack: it had fallen off the wall to reveal a white silhouette of a bird in flight.
Status: rebuilt
The Motor Inn, Magnolia, Seattle: 2000
This was really a little carriage house behind the Manor House which was owned by the parents of a student of mine. They wouldn't let me pay them any rent. I was so rarely there that they played a game called "Spot the Teacher." Whomever saw me the most during any given week got ice cream.
Status: a wide variety of needy folk have lived there since
Crackville Redux, Central District, Seattle: 2000-2002
This time my apartment had a view of the back parking lot and two different bars. One night, after hearing the inevitable sirens, I heard a megaphone cop yell "What do you think you're doing?" I could only picture a guy in handcuffs trying to sneak away on tippy-toe.
Status: ibid
Gilded Lily, Lower Queen Anne, Seattle: 2002-2003
I lived in three different bedrooms, worried about the balcony collapsing, roller-skated throughout the main floor, and hosted many a party (often with the aid of others, often too-freaking loud, often too-freaking many). Erin did some kick-ass painting (to support the kick-ass restoration completed by MJMD) and it was lovely in the spring and summer. Many glasses of sangria were consumed.
Status: nothing but ghosts now
JFK, North Beach, Seattle
This place is quiet and cozy and I love the view and the hot tub. Some day, I might move in for reals.
Status: current residence
Upon arrival at today's temp position, I discovered yesterday's panties were still in my bag.
Considering where I'm temping, that's more than professionally appropriate...and perhaps also the name of my new band.
We're Yesterday's Panties, thankyougoodnight.