Losing my License

I had a quiet afternoon ahead of me. Go for a leisurely run, I had thought, sometime in the early afternoon. My shift didn’t start until 3, and I would have plenty of time to laze about–possibly even catch up on “House of Cards” before I had to be at work.

That is, until a little after 11 a.m. when my job called to let me know that it was kind of a slow day, and they’d probably not need me until closer to 1 p.m. This changed things.

I wanted to get a run in, and also head over to my car, parked in the far-distant land of Several-Blocks-Away-Because-Street-Cleaning-in-Boston-is-Brutal-ton. I also needed to eat food and get a shower in. I would probably have to condense some of these plans. Wait, why am I still sitting here, accomplishing nothing?

Cut to a few minutes later, stretched and dressed for the run, I head out my front door. My license is tucked into the Tunebelt armband so I can drive my car legally to one of the golden parking spots outside my front door. I use the walk there as my warm up, and intend to run for 20 minutes before heading home. The run is good, although short, so feel like I could go further, if I had the time for it. But, I head inside and grab a shower. My phone alerts me the run is finished as I climb the stairs.

It isn’t until I am getting my wallet together to drive to work that I realize the license is no longer in the armband. I check the floor around my bed, under the discarded mass of sheets I leave behind. No license to be found here, either. I run downstairs and pat under the driver’s seat, hoping to find it there. No luck.

Somewhere between my car parked over by Oak Square, Cleveland Circle, and Washington Square, I think, a tiny piece of plastic with my name, birthdate, address and license number is floating around. For those who don’t live in the area, this is about a mile radius, to try and find a 2-by-3 inch piece of plastic. This is the modern equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack. I will need my deerstalker cap and no small amount of cunning to locate the damn thing.

And I have to be at work in 10 minutes. Which is just enough time to drive there. I will have to search later–likely on my break–because I am unsatisfied with my search of the car. I will risk driving like a reasonable human to get to work. With bills piling up, the last thing I need is to replace the damn license.

A few hours of selling high-end loose-leaf teas to the people of Chestnut Hill later, I return to my car on break. Moving the seat forward, and actually getting on my hands and knees, it’s sitting there. Waiting for me with my deer-in-the-headlights meets serial killer photo staring up at me.

Gratefully, I slip the plastic in my wallet. Glad I haven’t lost it while out on my run.


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