Posted by Andy “Where Are My Keys” Bell
I wish I had a name. I wish I had a phone number. But sometimes you can’t get what you wish for.
A kind soul made my day yesterday.
Somehow or other I managed to leave my wallet on the tram.
As is the way of these kind of events, the realisation that I was in deep do-do came at the precise moment that the “trolley” went clang-clang and powered off down Flemington Road.
The initial anger was soon replaced by a horrible realisation.
The cards, the cards, the cards.
ATM cards, credit cards, drivers licence, Medicare, Cabcharge for work, Flexicar card, the accursed Myki AND my loyalty card for my regular coffee haunt.
And I thought my football teams had had a bad weekend !
As the horror sank in I scrambled a plan. A naive, flawed plan, but a plan nonetheless.
It was to try and chase down the tram on its way out of the city.
It was a long hour as I waited and went through the horror story over and over.
And yes, I was muttering … bitterly.
No luck on the first double tram I jumped onto. Mmmm.
Then onto the second.
Nothing around where I was sitting, so I stumbled up to the front and waited for a suitable time to ask the question of the driver, knowing my mission was one of a fool … and I was that fool.
All of a sudden, the driver asked me questions about my name, how much money was in the wallet and what kind of cards.
I first thought it was a weird protocol and then all of a sudden my orphaned money carrier was re-united with a very grateful passenger.
Someone had not only handed it over, but they hadn’t removed a single thing. That’s civil society.
Thank you, may karma pick you a trifecta.
My relief was a natural high of overdose proportions.
AND I resolved to hunt down my former wallet – the one with the chain that attaches it to the pants.
What was a fashion & sexual statement in the 1990s has now become a necessity.
So I should be fine from now on – as long as I keep my pants on.