A wicked wicker basket took my wallet

Derrick Knutson
Derrick Knutson

In the mail yesterday, I received two new, shiny credit cards — one for me, and the other for my wife, since we’re on the same account.

They were the last ones I had to replace after “losing” my wallet a couple of weeks ago.

Notice the quotation marks around that word.

My wife and I went to the grocery store after leaving the gym one Friday evening, and the next morning, as we were about to leave the house, I realized I had no idea as to the location of my wallet.

It had slid out of my jacket pocket in the parking lot of a Chipotle a few weeks prior, and a nice lady had picked it up and returned it to me when I headed back to the restaurant about a half hour later, realizing then I didn’t have my wallet.

I was hoping this might be the case again, so we drove back to the grocery store that Saturday, but no luck. Nobody had returned it.

I knew it wasn’t at the gym, because I had used it to purchase food at the grocery store.

I searched everywhere in the house I could think of where I might have put the wallet, but that hunt turned out to be fruitless, as well.

I then started to panic.

I know plenty of people who have had their credit cards and identities stolen, and I didn’t want to give a potentially nefarious person time to rack up charges on my credit cards and drain my checking account.

So I canceled my two credit cards and my check card that day and monitored my bank account online.

No withdrawals had been made from the checking account and no charges had been made on the credit cards.

I had apparently bested the ne’er-do-well who had taken my wallet. They would not have access to my money, other than the $40 in cash I had in the wallet.

But I was still forlorn. I was worried about the other personal information I had in there — my driver’s license, an expired Blockbuster card, dryer lint that might have my DNA on it — thinking about these things pretty much ruined my day until mid afternoon.

I was also kind of distraught that I now had no way to purchase things other than with a massive jar of change I keep in my closet.

I don’t think a gas station attendant would have appreciated me dumping $20 in pennies on their counter when I went to pay for fuel.

It would be at least five days before a new credit card was mailed to me.

Feeling restless later that day, I asked my wife if she wanted to go to the gym with me.

She obliged, so I went downstairs to fish our headphones for our music devices out of this wicker basket we keep inside our TV stand.

Lo and behold, there was my wallet, its leather glinting right at me in what I deemed to be a mocking fashion.

I was very relieved to find it, and my wife gave me the all-too-familiar head shake.

She’s had plenty of practice at that look, because I routinely do things like misplace my keys, leave pens in my pockets that then go through the dryer, and even put ice cream in the pantry instead of the freezer. That renders it more cream and less ice.

Even though I’ve had to wait a few weeks to get my couple of credit cards and check card back in the mail, I’m glad some criminal didn’t get my cards and personal information and isn’t out in the world posing as Derrick Knutson.

I’d imagine if some immoral person did successfully impersonate me with the information he or she found in my wallet, the criminal would likely lose the wallet shortly after taking it.

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