Saturday, September 22, 2012

Surely, I Did Not Just Do That

I put my checkbook in my purse yesterday.  Actually, my purse is really a wallet on a string.  It is not designed to hold a checkbook and a cell phone, so as I walk through tall wet grass at a yard sale, I discover that my phone is missing.  MP walks back to the car to get her phone to call me.  My ring is birds chirping.  We are outside on a fall morning.  Birds are chirping.  Fortunately, MP's specific ring has chimes along with birds, and so with relative ease, I find my phone.  In an effort to not lose it again, I put it in my purse and transfer my checkbook to the back pocket of my jeans.  This later proves to be an unwise decision.

After the yard sale, MP and I head to Lowe's.  After drinking my usual morning beverage, a large Diet Coke, I find that my first stop at the store needs to be the restroom. That taken care of, I wander around the store to find MP who is looking for some cabinet knobs.  I am on a somewhat less reasonable quest for large eye screws and six foot pieces of rebar.  I explain my hairbrained scheme, and ask MP if she could see any reason it will not work.  Her reply is,  " it makes sense to me, but I imagine there will come a time when you find out why it won't work."  That is pretty much what I thought, but still I persist in my plans.  I leave Lowe's with four eye screws and no rebar because it will not fit in MP's car.  We head home, where I have big plans to do some painting, window washing, and some other equally fun activities.

As I am painting, my phone rings.  The conversation goes somewhat like this:

Me: "Hello?" (Sometimes, I must answer the phone in a childlike voice for earlier in the week someone asked if they could speak to my mother). 

Lady on phone whose name I learn is Martha: "uhmmmmmm, is this a Marilyn Switzer?"

 Me: "yes." 

Martha: "This may be a weird question, but were you in the bathroom at Lowe's Hardware today?"

Me: "Did you say Lowe's?" 

Martha:  "Yes, ma'am."

 Me: "Yes, I was at Lowe's." 

Martha:  "Oh, well I found your checkbook in one of the toilets.  I have it.  I thought about flushing it, but I thought it would stop up the toilet, and so I got it out.  It is pretty wet. I figured you might need it." 

I am extremely impressed with someone who would fish a checkbook out of a toilet in a store that has two aisles filled with plumbing supplies. 

Me:  "Oh, it must have fallen out of my back pocket."  Good grief. I really need to get a real purse.

 Martha: "What would you like for me to do with it." 

Me:  "There are not many checks in that book, so if you would just tear them up and throw them away, that would be great, and thank you so much.  You are very kind." 

Martha:  "Well, I know how I feel when I lose my debit card or checks, I've never dropped them in the toilet, but, you just never know what somebody might do with them." 

I am thinking what most people would do is flush them, and I refrain from regaling Martha with the many times I have dropped either my checkbook, my purse, my keys, my nametag at church (hard to deny that one), and various other things into toilets around town, but I do not want to scare her. 

Me:  "Martha, you are truly a Good Samaritan (I guess literally she is a Good Nashvillian).  I hope you have a wonderful day."

Martha: (laughing) "I hope you do too."

Back to my painting.  About an hour later, the phone rings.  Imagine my surprise when I learn that it is Martha again.  She is apologizing for bothering me.  I assure her that she is not.

Martha:  "Well, I noticed on the back of your checkbook some numbers written. I thought you might need them."

Me:  "What kind of numbers?"  I am wondering if I have written a credit card number on the book of checks.  I really have no idea.

Martha:  "They look like phone numbers.  One has CL written by it and one has SCH.  I don't know what that means, but I was worried that you might need them."

I think for a moment, and then it dawns on me that Mr. Lincoln had written those phone numbers on the first piece of paper he could find, the checkbook, and they belonged to a teacher who wants to book a tour.  Hmmmmmmmmmmm, I should have called her by now.  Wonder why she doesn't reply to my emails instead of wanting to talk on the phone.   Well, I do like to get caught up with her and her family each year.....a tap on my wandering mind, and I come back to Martha.  "Oh, yes, Martha, I do need those numbers.  You are the nicest person.  Thank you so much."

Martha and I hang up, and I return to my painting.  Painting is a solitary activity, and so the mind wanders....I wonder why Martha still had my checkbook....is she drying it out to use the checks....no, someone who fishes a checkbook out of a public toilet would not do that....a desperate person might...Mr. Lincoln is not going to be happy about this IF he ever finds out....oh, he won't really care, but maybe I should call Martha back and ask her the numbers on the checks, just in case this turns out like that fender bender...Mr. Lindoln really was not happy when I did not call the police after being rear-ended by a lovely young man in a company truck who begged me not to call the authorities because his boss would be really mad...yep, funny how "boss" was code for "the man who owns the business and from whom I stole this truck".....yeah, I better call Martha and get those check numbers... how will I get her number, not having caller ID...oh, I'll dial *69...that will work.

The phone is ringing.  Martha answers.  I begin apologizing for bothering her.  She says she was worried that she had upset me with the second call.  I am thinking what must I have sounded like to cause her to worry about my being upset with her...I really must work on my phone etiquette, how do I ask her for the check numbers without her feeling like I don't trust her, I know I'll blame it on Mr. Lincoln, he won't care...so I ask her for the numbers explaining that my husband, the attorney, will be much happier if he knows that I know what the numbers were on the checks that were flushed. She is very understanding.  I thank her over and over.  We bid each other fond farewells.  I go back to my painting, and decide that perhaps I just will not leave the house again. 

So for today I wish you a Martha guardian angel to look after you when you do stupid things, and I wish you

blessings

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