After class I walked geometrically across the Quad on the diagonal and at one point I put my left hand in its corresponding pocket. The ten-dollar bill I'd found on the run earlier was still there. And to think I had hesitated to go out in the first place!
I'd had a litany of excuses in mind. I really should read a bit more. I needed extra time to get ready because I wanted to dress a little nicer for my lunch date. I should play with the dogs. I needed to go to the bank. My stomach was still a bit churned up. I was sore from Thursday at the ARC, probably more from the weights than from the treadmill*. I looked out the window, felt the warm air and thought, "I'll just do what I can."
In the first 10 minutes I found the money. I hesitated to pick it up. But I did. I looked at all the houses on the street thinking that $10 is kind of a lot to lose for anyone. I imagined myself knocking on doors asking neighbors I don't know if they'd lost some money. It could take forever. And shyness trumped good Samaritanism. I decided to just keep it. Normally I wouldn't remember to put it in the pocket of whatever pants I was wearing, but I wanted to buy lunch for once and thought if he put up a fight, I could brandish it (padded with some $1s), declaring that it was on neither of us, because I'd found a wad.**
Continuing in the extremely pleasant social vein of the week, I ran into several colleagues on my way to the car so naturally and not unexpectedly, I was running late and saw the estimated leave time of 5:15 fading like the sunset I was driving directly into. At home I let the dogs in, fed them, petted them, apologized for having to "go to the store", switched to a bigger bag so I could bring 2666 to read on the BART and hustled out the door.
I found the best parking spot ever at the BART station, but as I rifled through my bag to get my ticket (with $5.40 already on it) out of my wallet, I discovered that my wallet hadn't made the bag switch. Or maybe it had fallen out on the street somewhere. My first thought, irresponsible, was "Menos mal... 2666 is still here, thank God!" Then I thought, "But, shit...how do I get money for another ticket?" I didn't want to call and cancel the date we'd been planning forever. Plus, he was already on Valencia St. waiting. Inexplicably, there was a checkbook in the bag. "BART won't take a check, idiot!" I realized. I jammed my hands in my pockets. ¡SCORE! PH to 16th and Mission couldn't be more than $10.00, could it?
The round-trip ticket was $9.40. And the round trip was very, very good.
*I can't remember the last time I "lifted", but the machines seem to make you lift properly, so I was sore in all the right places. Nor can I remember the last time I was on a treadmill. Oh wait, yes I can. The treadmills at the ARC only let you go for 30 minutes plus a 5-min. cooldown. I cheated the cooldown by overriding the speed. I'd also had to override the speed manually quite a few times, so I don't know how accurate my speed/distance estimate was, but I "calculated" that I might be able to run a 9 1/2-10 minute mile - probably just one, though.
**Though I did gracefully manage to take possession of the check, I didn't use my found money. And to his stern, "This is the last time I permit this." I meekly replied, "I know."
I know the troll is the point, but without it...magical.
No comments:
Post a Comment