Lost and Found

I met some friends out one late Saturday night in the lower east side a couple weeks ago. Our meet-up spot was a place called "Home Sweet Home." I had the address, but had also been told there was no sign to let you know you were in the right place. It was one of those places.
I managed to find my way there and made my way past the doorman, down the steep staircase to the booming music below. There was a coat check at the front, but the line was long, and I really had to use the bathroom by the time I got to the club, so I decided to come back for it. On my way to the restroom, I ran into my friends, who told me to lose my coat (it was hot in the club) so I put my coat and purse in a large pile on one of the many benches that surrounded the dance floor.
The evening continued in a blur of whiskey, laughs, loud conversations over louder music, and sweaty dancing. As the night wore on, the club got more and more packed and the group of friends got more and more tipsy, eventually making their way out of the club. When it was time to go, I went back to the bench for my coat and purse. My coat was found rather easily, but the purse was nowhere to be found. I was screwed.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach and knew someone had taken it. It was my favorite purse - a classy, understated coach - a gift from my mother who thought after all my years with knock-offs I deserved at least one genuine article. The contents of the purse were gut-wrenching: my favorite wallet (a gift from my brother), my brand new Metro Card (price: $89), my I-pod (price: $200), my phone (price: $300), my ID (priceless), my bank card, my glasses (price: $500), and Chapstick (price: $4).
The silver lining was that evening I had opened a tab at the bar, and they had my credit card. Without that, I would have been completely powerless - unable to make a purchase or get cash in the most expensive city in the country.
I went to the front and asked the coat check, the bartenders, the DJ - anyone who would listen - if someone had turned in a purse. They all shook their heads sadly. I started to feel a little sick to my stomach and feel the tears prickle in my eyes - threatening to come. I made my way to the front and asked the door man, who seemed to genuinely feel my pain. He shook his head sadly, but a look of determination crossed over his face as his grabbed a flash light and led me back through the dance floor. We circled the floor, looking on every bench, under every table. We asked people to move, we disrupted their groove, we did what was we could to look for a small brown bag in the dark chaos of a downtown club on a Saturday night. We came up with nothing.
He was still determined. He was ignoring a line of people outside to help me look for my bag, and he was not giving up. He asked another bouncer to take a second look. He touched my shoulder sweetly and said, “he’ll find it. He always finds it.” My lower lip started to quiver and I squeaked , “…my dog….” He seemed to understand and said again, “he’ll find it.” But, alas, he did not.
I left the club that night without a way to get into my apartment, without a way to prove my identity, without a way to make a phone call. I felt completely lost.
The next morning I woke up and started the slow process of replacing everything. I paid a locksmith $179 to break into my apartment and had a lovely reunion with Taetu. I paid AT&T $300 and another two years of my life to get my phone back. I stopped by Lenscrafters, locksmiths, and more - every stop breaking out my weary credit card - paying my way out of my stupidity.
I still don’t have my bank card, and carrying my passport to clubs has been ridiculous, but slowly I’ve gotten back to normal.
I was stopping home to walk puppy two nights ago. It was cold outside and I rushed through the lobby, quickly working my mail key (freshly made) to collect my mail. A small package nearly fell out into my hands. I thought at first it was an early Christmas gift from my dad, but when I noticed the return address my adrenalin started kicking in: “Good Samaritan NYC.”
I couldn’t open the package in the lobby - I needed scissors, but I knew it was the purse. I took the stairs two at a time and burst through the front door, nearly running over puppy. I grabbed my scissors from above the kitchen sink, broke into the package and pulled out my long lost purse. I screamed out loud as I unzipped the bag and emptied its contents onto my kitchen counter - my phone, my I-pod, my wallet, my Chapstick…it was all there. The cash was gone, but I didn’t care…I considered it a finders fee.
I haven’t been so excited in a very long time. I leapt around the apartment, hardly believing my luck. It truly seemed like a Christmas miracle.
The biggest thing I’ve taken from this entire thing, aside from the lesson to never leave my purse on a bench in a nightclub unattended (wow…it took me way too long to learn that one)….was a lesson in the kindness of strangers. I was touched by the doorman at the club, even in my fog of panic and distress. He went out of his way to help a stranger, and he really didn’t owe me anything. The entire situation was truly my own damn fault.
I was touched by friends who came through for me - helping me piece me life back together.
But ultimately, I was touched that someone, somewhere out there, had it in their heart to put my purse in an envelope, take it to the post office, and drop it in the mail. People are genuinely good - even in the “rudest city in the country” - this is true, and it’s lovely to revel in that Truth. As the temperatures drop and the weather starts to chill, that single thought will keep me warm at night.