Hanging Around in the Lost and Found

Last night at work, while going for a smoke and showing off my Eagle Scout card, I realized that I had lost my ID. Needless to say I flipped my neurotic shit.

Waves of paranoia washed over me. "What if someone steals my identity?" I thought. After scouring my office, the bathroom, and calling every department in the hotel I calmed down. "If its not here, I must have dropped it at a coffee shop or cafe." I reassured myself.

But then, a whole new set of worries grabbed me. What would I do without an ID? I would be unable to go to bars or liquor stores. I would be caught in the throws of sobriety, a very sobering thought indeed! "At least there is always the Maja." I was fighting back worry.

Furthermore, I had no idea how I would replace said ID. What would I need? What if "they" would not reissue me an ID? This post 9/11 world is a pretty crazy place, after all. How would I survive without my happiness fuel?

I called my mom. What else is there to do when one is in need of expert calming? I chatted with her for a bit and described the situation. She agreed that it was frustrating, and that I would need to search the last places I was prior to going to the DMV.

I got off work, and for a while forgot the whole problem. Reading Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles helped keep my mind away from my worries while riding the bus home. I felt my panic and paranoia creep back on the walk home from my bus stop, but as I went to sleep I resolved to search high and low (Seattle's Best Coffee and Specialty's Cafe) for my missing Identification.

After work this morning I went downtown. I wanted to kill some time so I wasted time at the Online Coffee Company and then at a Lark in the Morning, a wonderfully esoteric music shoppe.

I used the old "in the market for a new guitar" line and played for an hour and chatted up the clerk (mostly folk music.) After playing about half the guitars in the joint I set off to (hopefully) reclaim my lost ID.

I set back out through the market and being hungry ate some extremely spicy Texas Style Chili that just about gave me a panic attack. Then, feeling the need to waste a little more time, wandered the market for a bit.

No longer able to delay the dreaded inveitable I set off for SBC. I steeped inside and stood at the counter. For TEN minutes. I stood there for ten minutes watching the baristas chat and pretend I was not there.

This increased my chili induced panic. Was I there? Was I just a vapor or a brume? Had I died and continued about my business unaware of my own death? Thankfully, no. Feeling my glare one of the baristas came up to help me. It was Christa, a mousy-bookwormish barista with whom I spoke about books on my occasional visits to Seattle's Best Coffee.

"Can I get a drink started for you?" she asked, smiling.
"Do you have a lost and found?" I asked in return.
"Do we have a . . . lost and. . . " a light clicked. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "You're IAN!" I was both worried and elated at this minor fame.
"Yeah, I'm Ian."
"I have something for you." I prayed it was not a severed head.
"What is it?" a silly question, because I knew immediately what it was.
"This." She handed me a piece of paper with my ID taped to it. There were various phrases written on the sheet. "Help! I'm lost!" A speach bubble said. In another person's handwritting it said "REGULAR. He will be back."

"Thanks," I said feeling much better having attained my lost ID.
"So. . . do you want a drink in celebration!" Christa made me a coffee smoothie and I was on my way. Next stop West Seattle.