NEWS: My Wallet’s Back (and they said it couldn’t be done)
WARNING—THIS IS A WORDY ONE.
Call #1. 11PM, Monday night. 23 hours after my hold-up.
“Hello, my name is Gladys. I found your wallet outside my door. Everything’s still in it and I’d like to give it back to you. I’ll call you again.”
She left no number. And how did she know what was in my wallet to begin with?
It was pretty curious to say the least. If she hadn’t called my work number, the phone number on my business cards not the one I posted in the doorway, I probably wouldn’t have believed her at all. But I did. I believed her.
Call #2. 11PM, Tuesday night. 47 hours after my hold-up.
“Hello, this is Gladys again. The pastor of my church on the Lower East Side found your wallet in the snow and gave it to me to give back to you. I’ll call again.”
Why wasn’t she leaving a number? And the story had now changed, did’ja catch that… come on, her pastor found it? If you’re the pastor of a church and you find someone’s wallet, filled with credit cards, IDs and phone numbers where they can be reached, why not call yourself? Why hand it off to someone else?
Call #3. 10AM. Wednesday morning. 58 hours after my hold-up. This time I picked up.
“Hello, this is Gladys again, I’m about to run some errands, but I’ve got your wallet with me. Do you want me to drop it off at this 110 Fifth Ave address?”
“Actually I’m working from home today. I live right in your neighborhood—would you mind dropping it off here?”
“No, no problem.”
Call #4. 10:30AM. Wednesday morning. 58 hours and thirty minutes after my hold-up.
“I dropped your wallet off at your work.” What? Why didn’t she want to meet me? What was she hiding? Maybe I’d been watching too much Murder She Wrote, or maybe the short shots I’d been wearing in Europe (pictures to come) had me thinking I was Magnum PI, but I couldn’t help but think this Gladys character was involved. Maybe she was my assailant’s girlfriend. Or mother. I had to know. Luckily I had the number she’d made call #3 from.
Uuugh… this story’s too long.... I’m sorry, I’m starting to bore even myself. Let’s cut it short:
I tracked Gladys, who I now know to be one Gladys T Burgos, down at the soup kitchen where she works on 3rd and B.
Sadly, one look at her proved she had nothing to do with it. The kid who mugged me was about my height and black, this lady was like four feet and Hispanic. And kept praising Jesus. Still, I wasn’t ready to let it go. I felt like maybe my robber was a regular at the soup kitchen. Maybe that’s how she got my wallet in the first place. So after I thanked her I volunteered. That’s right, for the last two days I’ve been serving coffee and lunch at the church below. Staking it out. Studying faces. Waiting. Waiting. Nothing.
Anyway, I guess no harm no foul, really. I got my wallet back. I only lost three dollars. And besides, spending all that time at the soup kitchen, with people less fortunate then myself, taught me a valuable lesson:
I HAVE WAY TOO MUCH FREE TIME.
Call #1. 11PM, Monday night. 23 hours after my hold-up.
“Hello, my name is Gladys. I found your wallet outside my door. Everything’s still in it and I’d like to give it back to you. I’ll call you again.”
She left no number. And how did she know what was in my wallet to begin with?
It was pretty curious to say the least. If she hadn’t called my work number, the phone number on my business cards not the one I posted in the doorway, I probably wouldn’t have believed her at all. But I did. I believed her.
Call #2. 11PM, Tuesday night. 47 hours after my hold-up.
“Hello, this is Gladys again. The pastor of my church on the Lower East Side found your wallet in the snow and gave it to me to give back to you. I’ll call again.”
Why wasn’t she leaving a number? And the story had now changed, did’ja catch that… come on, her pastor found it? If you’re the pastor of a church and you find someone’s wallet, filled with credit cards, IDs and phone numbers where they can be reached, why not call yourself? Why hand it off to someone else?
Call #3. 10AM. Wednesday morning. 58 hours after my hold-up. This time I picked up.
“Hello, this is Gladys again, I’m about to run some errands, but I’ve got your wallet with me. Do you want me to drop it off at this 110 Fifth Ave address?”
“Actually I’m working from home today. I live right in your neighborhood—would you mind dropping it off here?”
“No, no problem.”
Call #4. 10:30AM. Wednesday morning. 58 hours and thirty minutes after my hold-up.
“I dropped your wallet off at your work.” What? Why didn’t she want to meet me? What was she hiding? Maybe I’d been watching too much Murder She Wrote, or maybe the short shots I’d been wearing in Europe (pictures to come) had me thinking I was Magnum PI, but I couldn’t help but think this Gladys character was involved. Maybe she was my assailant’s girlfriend. Or mother. I had to know. Luckily I had the number she’d made call #3 from.
Uuugh… this story’s too long.... I’m sorry, I’m starting to bore even myself. Let’s cut it short:
I tracked Gladys, who I now know to be one Gladys T Burgos, down at the soup kitchen where she works on 3rd and B.
Sadly, one look at her proved she had nothing to do with it. The kid who mugged me was about my height and black, this lady was like four feet and Hispanic. And kept praising Jesus. Still, I wasn’t ready to let it go. I felt like maybe my robber was a regular at the soup kitchen. Maybe that’s how she got my wallet in the first place. So after I thanked her I volunteered. That’s right, for the last two days I’ve been serving coffee and lunch at the church below. Staking it out. Studying faces. Waiting. Waiting. Nothing.
Anyway, I guess no harm no foul, really. I got my wallet back. I only lost three dollars. And besides, spending all that time at the soup kitchen, with people less fortunate then myself, taught me a valuable lesson:
I HAVE WAY TOO MUCH FREE TIME.
posted by Jakehimself at 5:35 PM
6 Comments:
Best Saga Evah...
Well, after "Thorn Birds," that is.
I think i have more free time ;-)
http://islandmusic.blogspot.com
i dunno why ppl r always badmouthin nyc i have lost my wallet twice and gotten it back no problemo I LOVE THIS TOWN
I wanted to see more pictures of travel.
i liked ur fish story way better
Well, it's obvious that you have no clue. You were touched by an Angel. Sister Gladys is practically an institution in the Lower East Side. Working in the soup kitchen is one of many contributions she makes to the community. Now she can add returning wallets "that belong to shameless scoundrels like you" to her list of good deeds. At least you managed to pay your tithe to the higher order by working in the soup kitchen as a volunteer.
William
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