Since I started the weekend off by doing something super stupid…it seemed somehow cosmically unavoidable that I would start the work-week (my first full one since being on vacation) doing something equally moronic.
I was getting ready to head out the door for work when I realized that I couldn’t find my gym card. Now normally, this would not be a big deal. I’d already been to gym for the day and certainly wouldn’t need it while at the office. But given that it’s the only form of photo ID I’m carrying at the moment, I was a little freaked out when I couldn’t put my hands on it. (That…plus ever since being pick-pocketted in Stockholm, I haven’t been able to trust myself to keep track of anything more vital than a grocery list.)
After thoroughly checking the pockets of the rain jacket I’d worn to and from the gym (where I’d used the card to exit the building), I decided to retrace my steps on the outside chance I’d dropped it somewhere between there and The Penthouse-Nordic (a distance of about three city blocks). With any luck I would enough time to do this and still make the 7:34 train to Landskrona.
Of course it was pouring down rain when I set out on my second trip to the gym (did I mention it was in the opposite direction of the train station?) and I didn’t find any sign of the gym card. So I doubled back toward Malmö Central wracking my brain for where my gym card could be. And as I crossed Drottningtorget, I realized that I had not checked the pockets of the shorts I’d worked out in…and suddenly I was 99.9% sure that was where I would find the card. Bullet dodged, day saved. I’m even going to make the 7:34 train!
Or so I thought.
When I arrived at the station (dripping wet, I might add, because I was in too much of a hurry to dig an umbrella out of the backpack) I discovered that my commuter card was not in its usual pocket on the outside of the pack. And once I shook off the feeling of absolute incredulity, I remembered that I took it out of the backpack on Saturday morning when Dr. Darling and I were running a few errands in the city. We planned to do them all on foot, but the weather looked threatening and we both made a point of taking our commuter cards along so we could hop a bus home if necessary. Son of a bitch!
So now I’m REALLY pissed at myself, because there was no time to purchase a ticket in the station before the train left and the fee for paying your fare onboard is almost as much as the ticket itself. So I got off the train and trudged back to the Penthouse-Nordic (yes, it was still raining). But on the bright side, I’m thinking…”at least I’ll be able to grab my pseudo-photo ID gym card while I’m there.”
By the time I arrived home 10 minutes later my rain jacket is so thoroughly soaked that I had to switch to a different one. And yes, the gym card was exactly where I had (finally) predicted. But when I opened the small waistpack I’d worn on our errand jaunt on Saturday, my commuter card wasn’t in it. I WAS FLOORED. Where the hell could it be and why can’t I hang on to anything remotely valuable?!!
Once I finished banging my head against the wall of the entry hall, I recalled a conversation the Swede and I had on Saturday morning about how lucky it had been that I did not have my commuter card in my wallet when it was stolen. (The card, good for unlimited travel in the Skåne region, costs a pretty good chunk of change each month and can be used by anyone who happens to find it…though I doubt a Stockholm pickpocket would have much use for it.)
So I dug my wallet out of the backpack…and sure enough, the commuter card was tucked into the zippered pocket on the inside of it. I’D HAD IT WITH ME ALL ALONG. So, equipped with a dry jacket and an umbrella, I headed off on my second trip to the train station…but not without banging my head on the hallway wall one more time for good measure.