The Midnight Hour

When I asked this of life merely a few weeks ago it gave me the obvious reply, “I’m serious, and don’t call me Shirley, because now I’m pissed, and I’m going to own you for the next 45 minutes.”  Read on to find out why I asked this benign and powerful question.

I stopped at the Fresh Market on my way home from work that weekday afternoon.  It was about 5 PM and I was still wearing my gym clothes from exercising at the University Fitness Center.  When I stop at businesses dressed in gym clothes I generally grab my wallet and keys and hold them in my hand throughout my shopping experience.  That day was no exception, and I made my way into the grocery outlet at the corner of Whitesburg Dr. and Airport Rd.

Fresh Market has an incredible selection of imported and micro-brewed beer.  I selected one of their micro-brewery sampler packs from a display near the coolers.  I also saw some roses were on clearance, so I bought them for my wife.

I paid for my goods and hefted them out of the store.  Holding everything at once was a little cumbersome, but I only had to make it to my car which was parked close to the entrance.  Fumbling with the roses and beer I extracted my keys and sat my goods on the roof of the car while I unlocked it.  I then placed my things in the back seat and got into the driver’s seat to continue home.

I left via the side exit onto Airport Rd.  I stopped at the light and then started climbing the hill towards where Airport Rd. becomes Carl T. Jones Dr. (before it becomes numerous other roads).  As I ascended the hill I heard a thump somewhere near the back seat.  I turned around expecting to find that one or more items had shifted against the gravity of the hill.  Everything looked normal, so I turned my head back towards the road.  As I turned back towards the front a flash of something behind the rear glass caught my peripheral vision.  I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.  It looked to be a dull color, much like the brown of the surrounding fall landscape.  With my eyes now forward I then glanced at the rearview mirror to catch another glimpse of the mystery item.  I still caught only a glimpse, but a longer glimpse than the first.  The item was now brown with subtle hints of green, and bounced off my spoiler to go “splat” in the middle of the road behind me.  When it hit the road the green hues became more lively and vibrant, as if it was spewing forth from the brown.  I pondered the object for several fractions of a second.  Then I asked myself a simple question:

Where is my wallet?

As I retraced my steps in the ensuing milliseconds I remembered paying for my items in Fresh Market.  Then I sat my items on the roof of the car before loading them into the back seat.  It should have been with me in the cab, either in the cup holder or on top of my gym bag…but it wasn’t.  I flipped open the console in desperation.  No luck.  I was out of options—every option—except for one.  It was on the roof.  Well, it was on the roof.  Now it’s on Airport Road in 5 PM traffic and spewing money like Pac Man Jones in a Las Vegas strip club.  That was the only option, and I knew in my heart of hearts that it was true.

Surely you can’t… oh noes!

The horrified second glance into my rearview was when I saw the insanely heavy afternoon traffic that threatened to pummel my wallet at 3 cars (or 12 tires) per second.  In the milliseconds following this I thought, “You know, it’s not that bad.  I couldn’t have had more than $60 in there, and I’ve only got one credit card.”  Then I thought about my driver’s license, my insurance cards, my concealed carry permit, my ATM card, and the various other keys to my administrative life that rest in that little fold of cowhide.  I thought about the work they represented in time spent waiting in line to replace each one of them.  I thought about the timeframe in which I’d have to replace them to continue normal life…immediately.  I conservatively estimated that I’d have to take two days off work just to get the ball rolling.  I only have five days of vacation total!!

Fan, meet shit.  Shit, meet fan.

At this point I knew I must recover my wallet at the risk of life and limb.  Nearly causing a wreck (which would have been well uphill of my wallet, thank God) I got into the right lane and turned into a neighborhood of townhouses.  I whipped around, back onto Airport Rd., and parked about 50 feet inside the entrance to the Publix parking lot.  I’ve lost my wallet on Airport Rd.; the Publix shoppers can drive around.

I had to wait for a safe (relatively) time to cross the road.  I watched bills dance delightfully in the breeze as traffic thwarted my progress yet again.  A stoplight engaged and I sprinted to the other side.  Finally, ground zero.  This is where it happened…or at least I think so.  It could have been further up there, or maybe towards the bottom of the hill.  Good God, Elrod, where did it happen?!?  I’m looking for a 6-inch leather wallet on a 100-foot stretch of road.  It might as well be Jimmy Hoffa.  Just before I started combing the desert, Spaceballs style, I had a novel idea: follow the cash.

I had been picking up bills as I came across them since I landed on the proper side of Airport.  In stark contrast to how I normally spread and flatten the bill into a smooth sheet and then insert it into my wallet, I was wadding these dollars into balls to fit inside my left hand more conveniently.  I went from one to another, sometimes dipping into the road, sometimes reaching under a sewer overhang, looking much like Scrooge McDuck, until I came upon one opening to a sewer that had two bills inside it.

The presence of two bills in such a small area said one thing to me: the wallet is close.  Unfortunately, a few inches from where the last bill came to rest the storm drain dropped into the inky blackness of the sewer.  Then it hit me like a drunken Lindsay Lohan behind the wheel of a Lexus: my wallet had fallen into the sewer.

Apoca-shit: initiate.  All fans are GO for spin.

I didn’t invent that phrase, but it best describes my feelings at that moment in time.  Instead of trying to put this into paragraph form, I’ll just give you a snapshot of my inner dialogue after this revelation.

Can I reach it?  No way.  Can I fabricate something to reach it?  I can’t even see down there.  Is there a current?  Did it wash away?  If there is a current is it made of rainwater or poop?  Poop floats.  Does my wallet float?  Who could I call that would let me into the sewer to retrieve it?  Geez, nobody is going to let me into the sewer.  I need somebody that can fit inside this opening.  A pet?  No, the task is too advanced, and no opposable thumbs.  A child?  That could work.  Where can I find I child to go into the sewer and retrieve my wallet?  My wife works at a school.  How do I select the child?  I need the smartest yet smallest child available.  Nobody will let me put their child into the sewer!  Do they have to know?

HONK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I thought I was about to be hit, but there was no threatening traffic in sight.

“Hey!  I got it!  I got it over here!” yelled a man in a blue truck.  He was waiting at the stoplight, having turned around after retrieving my wallet.  Traffic was stopped in my direction, so I ran across the road to the turning lane and approached his driver-side window.  At this point my memory starts to blur from the elation of having my wallet back, but at some point he handed it over and said something about hoping I find any money that was in it.  I flipped it open to find all of my important cards and pieces of identification.  There wasn’t a single piece of currency to be found, but I wasn’t too concerned.  I heartily thanked him and sprinted back to the side of the road.

A city policeman stopped to help me round up the remainder of the loose bills that were floating about.  He described to me the scene that had transpired which included the phrase, “and then people realized ‘Whoa! That’s money!’”  I double and triple checked that everything was accounted for, replaced the $27 in crumpled bills back into my wallet, and made my way back to my car.

During the remainder of my drive home I had sudden, uncontrollable urges to check the location of my wallet (which I tucked safely inside my console).  After an eventful afternoon of dodging cars, sprinkling Airport Rd with cash, and contemplating child kidnapping I returned home to normalcy once again.  The fans spun down, the onslaught of poop subsided, and all was well in the world once again.