Today is Ankle Freedom day. I wake up late, and crutch the 12 blocks to my doctor’s office . I arrive sweating, 15 minutes late, but the office is locked. Another 15 minutes later two women come by and open it up, but tell me that my doctor isn’t there. Why not? After all, a doctor’s place is in his office. Well, he has two offices. The other one is at St. Vincent’s hospital, where I had my surgery. Where he is today.
I hail a cab at Davie and Howe. The driver takes VISA. Great, let’s go to the hospital. Then I feel a strange shiver of panic: a voice in my head says, “if you want to pay by VISA, you need to have your VISA card with you.” A VISA card’s place is in your wallet. But my VISA card is sitting on the living room table in my apartment, where I left it after paying for last night’s pizza.
Get the cabbie to go by my apartment (we were right there anyway), and after a raised eyebrow in the rearview, he agrees. You’re coming back, right? Right. Here, keep my knapsack as insurance. Upstairs, grab the card and a glass of water. Back in the cab, drive to the hospital, take out my wallet, pay, and crutch it into the clinic.
At the admissions counter, the woman asks for my CareCard. A CareCard’s place is in your wallet. My wallet. A wallet’s place is in your pocket. Mine’s not there. I look in my knapsack. It’s not there either. Sinking feeling: it’s in the cab. Two phone calls later I locate my wallet and the driver returns it for a mere $12 fee.
“This is why you computer geeks will never rule the world,” he says amicably. I am so grateful I decide not to tell him about Bill Gates.
Despite the thoroughly miserable morning, my cast is off and I am now in high spirits. It’s amazing what the return of the use of a limb can do for your mood.
The moral of the story: your mother was right when she told you to put things back where you found them.
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