It's not easy okay? Lugging a leather shoulder bag (mmm... this beauty was bought on the outskirts of Lahore & bargained down from Rs. 6000 to 3000 :), a big-a$$ totes storm proof umbrella so that the much too frequent snow storms don't snap them in half (R.I.P. 4 umbrellas), yer mufflers'n'gloves and what-nots, my beloved Creative: Zen (it's the mp3 player than iPod wishes it can be), cell-phone, metro-card, train ticket, office keys etc. It's not easy at all.
The juggling act becomes a full blown circus when coz' of the snow, the train timings are thrown off. Cut to me: purchasing a ticket at the kiosk in Linden, NJ with the bus AT the platform about to leave. So I rush in, wallet out, flailing articles mentioned above. Last dreaded Wednesday this was, the day of the big storm. (this last line sounded like old man crazy-face narrating a forbidden tale of unfathomed natural disasters, unrequited love and whales and what not).
So, Wednesday it was, and then I got off at the Penn Station in Manhattan & proceeded to the track 10 escalators. Some shady looking mexicans, breakfast burrito in hand ofcourse, were waiting by the mouth of the escalators whilst everyone is always trying to push through. They were three, as in the three mice or rats (pinch me when this becomes racially incorrect). Surely, I brushed past them, toting my beloved, aforementioned, hot as fudge briefcase on my right shoulder, covering my right-hiney where the wallet rested peacefully (OR DID IT?). From the corner of my eye, I saw the lil critters get on the escalators behind me. I paid no heed. Not a single f**k was given. Then, halfway up the escalators, I felt a nudge of sorts; my bag was pushed. My sixth sense surely tingled & I was going to check my wallet - but the capsule that is the Track 10 escalator & the mob of people prevented me from reaching around my bag. As I got off, ofcourse, the wallet was missing. I ran down & raced the train so I could tell the driver to stop - it was headed to the yard. In any case, I requested a search, got the train number & the conductor said he'd look and call me if he'd find something. Then, I proceeded to freak out - my permanent resident card, debit cards, even my social security card was in it. Don't ask me why I was carrying all originals everywhere.
So I got a call back, nothing: the conductor said it's clean. However he said a thorough inspection is made at the yard so check with Lost & Found in a day. So I filed a report - and Umme & I settled that it was indeed a pick-pocketing. A certain salsa dippin, tortilla yielding, taco munchin type of pick-pocketing. I filed a report with the police at the station - ofcourse after waiting ten minutes to see if the sniffer dog would leave the station. He didn't. I had to brave it. Not that I had weed laced in my fundies. I just am generally scared of dogs that are more than yay high *holds out pinkie*.
The report was filed, I went to worked, I came back, got stuck in the storm, had to walk a mile in the worst of it, we shivered, we mourned and the snow day that was Thursday was spent in an in-illustrious mood.
Come Friday, this morning. After I parked my car at a few rare dug out, non-5 feet of snow mountain spots - this whitey fat rednecky ass-munch comes out & starts squealing like a demented buck, that it's HIS spot. It's a street. It's not yo-momma's. He kept crying until I told him to get the frak out of my face and stop squealing like bacon. Amidst this clamor, I had to find another parking spot - and the 7:35 train was missed - so I caught the 8:02 one. Which was a good thing.
As I got to Penn station & headed to the Lost'n'Found that I had visited twice before to no avail - It was revealed that I had been at the Amtrak Lost and Found window & not NJ transit. Why the officer didn't mentioned that the last two days - no one really knows.
And thus - sure as sunshine - NJ Transit Lost and Found had my freakin' wallet. All the $76 odd were gone. But the 50 Dirham note was in there. This was the one Mom gave me before she had to leave for Dubai and when me and Umme were moving to Amreeka. So, in some blessed reprieve, it was nestled in there. Thanks Mom :)
Whether the wallet was pick-pocketed or I had dropped it on the train will forever remain, much like most of my friends true paternity, a mystery. Thank God it's F**king Friday indeed.
p.s. Umme: time to pay off yer prayer-debt :P
