On top of the other zillion things that are consequently going off-kilter this month, I have lost my identification card. Since I have to change my name in four months, and I don’t particularly want to give more money to the state…I’m riding through the spring armed with my passport.
I am not usually negligent, so it was kind of weird that I lost it in the first place. I’ve only ‘lost’ my wallet/contents once before, but it was under much, much different circumstances.
I was in Paris for the TCU summer program and a handful of us girls got mischievous, deciding to venture out to the infamous show in the red light district–The Moulin Rouge. By some great feat of odds, we were seated in the very front row, on a table that directly butted up to the stage. I got the seat closest to the stage (naturally, less fearful of the unknown) and set my handheld clutch on the table’s edge.
The show started and it was about as wild as I had imagined–bare chested women, crazy costumes, and the occasional donkey running across the stage. During a particularly entrancing chorus, I noticed that my wallet wasn’t where I had set it. I am looking everywhere, only to realize that the floor next to my right foot had begun to move. As the floor is opening, I see that my wallet is playing limbo between two sets of floor that are spanning further and further apart. I snatch it quickly, still unsure of what in the world was happening to the groundwork. About thirty seconds later, I kid you not, the entire 20 foot by 20 foot stage floor had been repealed, and a giant clear tank of water, filled with snakes rose out of the ground about 6 feet high. Okay. The show was no longer cool, I was freaked. A naked lady gets onto a diving board and sails headfirst into this makeshift swamp, coming out with snakes wrapped around her neck.
When we left the show, all I could think of was–how–how would I have ever tried to explain to the airline attendants that I didn’t have my id, that my wallet had actually been snatched by a brood of vipers underwater? With the limited French I had in my vocabulary, I couldn’t come up with one sentence worthy of asking the Moulin Rouge staff to fetch my lost wallet.
“J’oublie mon port-feuille dans l’eau…ici, ici, allons-y!”
I don’t think so.