the underwear drawer

encyclopedia brown and the case of the missing wallet

I had a nice little nap, even though the air-conditioning in my apartment seems not to be living up to its full potential. (According to minutes from the shareholders meetings of our co-op that I never attend, there have been some problem with a piece of equipment called "the chiller," which, if I were to guess, is the machine that makes the coldness.) Now I'm just sort of lazing around the apartment, listening to but not watching TV. Remember when VH1 was supposed to be an actual music channel? Like they would play videos and such? Now they just have an endless parade of shows that are all, "The Top 100 [fill in the blank] of All Time" with their panel of fading sitcom stars weighing in on Janet Jackson's Superbowl boobage and other totally overexposed (heh) showbiz-type jokes. This just in: Britney Spears got married in Vegas, and then divorced the schlub a few days later! This will never stop being funny!

I do like "I Love the '80s," though. A more accurate title for the show, however, would be "I Love Michael Ian Black." You know, I saw him at my supermarket many, many years ago, back when he was on that sketch comedy show "The State." He's much taller than he looks. I think in an alternate universe, one in which I am not married to a blonde wrestler-cum-ophthalmologist from Ohio, I might be dating a skinny New York intellectual with acerbic wit and no job.

So remember how I lost my wallet? Well, Joe told me that some disheveled looking old guy (direct quote: "He looked like one of my dialysis patients") showed up to our building the other day and left me a note that said that he had found my "identification" and that I should call him at home. They ran into each other on the street, and Joe introduced himself as my husband and asked if he (disheveled guy) could just leave my wallet with either him (Joe) or our doorman, but then disheveled guy started acting really weird and twitchy, and then ran away. I am skeeved at this because:

1.) Hello, the guy know where I live! He has my address from my Learner's Permit and obviously showed up to the door of my building. But what kind of skeeve would come all the way in from an outer borough (the phone number he left was a 718 area code) and not just drop off the wallet? It's not like there are goverment secrets in there. There's probably not even any money in there anymore. Or, better yet, why not just mail it to me? Why would he make me call him at home?

2.) Maybe he is a crazy person. Maybe he is a perv. Maybe he wants to do me harm. Hell, I'm leaving for work before he sun comes up. Should I be worried?

3.) But maybe I'm just being too cynical. I mean, I never even conceived that I might get my wallet back. Of course, now that I've replaced virtually everything that was in that wallet (cards and such), I don't really need the wallet back. But should I be thinking, "What a nice man, I'm going to give him a call right now!" instead of, "Psycho killer, must buy some mace."

Anyway, I trust Joe's judgement and he seemed to think that this guy wasn't quite right in the head, so I'm not going to call. If he wants to mail me my wallet back, that's fine, I'll send him a little thank-you note, but otherwise, I don't think I'm going to call a questionable character over the matter of a stack of cancelled credit cards and my PALS certification.

Currently reading: I'm between books at the moment. I have to go through my stack to figure out which book is next in the queue.

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