My Creative Voice

Trying to add value, make sense of what's coming next and keeping things going in the same direction.

The Apple Fell …

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In the immortal words of Brian from The Breakfast Club: “Who am I? Who am I ? I am the walrus…”  What prompts this foray in to seriously good 80’s iconic filmography you ask ? Well a biblical reference to the apple might be unappealing to some and quite frankly I’m not feeling all that holy.  In fact, some might say, I’m downright pissed.  Some might even say, there are people in the world tonight who deserve to be Satan’s “special” friend.  So I’ll stay away from the bible and all it’s potential for complication.  I’ll stick with Brian – he says it best even with a Bic shoved up his nose.  Why this particular ramble you ask ? Well friends, someone stole my wallet yesterday and had them some fun.  An Apple figures prominently in this story of woe.

The scene: on a sunny Sunday afternoon, minding my own business, I sit studiously working in Starbucks as my son and his friends galavant at a nearby arcade.  The occasion ? My handsome boy is turning 14.  In the midst of the crashing noise and thundering lights, my son is as oblivious as his mother was to the dangers lurking.  Safely tucked in a corner, taking care to hide the purse, walls on two sides, barista station behind and no one occupying the seat to my left I dive in to homework.  Trying to make the best of this two hour window, I sit working through an assignment unaware that I have been targeted.  Unaware that I have not been careful enough.

It is silent.  It is planned.  It is flawless in it’s execution.  Like a fox caught in the crosshairs from deep within the forest, I am feeling no urge to run, no urge to protect myself and with a sip of my Chai I continue to work.  The red light of my demise has escaped my attention.  Me of the sixth sense.  Me of the hyper-acuity.  Me who can sense a stray hair on the back of my hand.  I am pillaged without any clue.  The Apple gets plucked from the tree as my Chai slowly disappears.

Before I even know what’s happened or can take any steps to prevent it, they have struck.  This faceless, thieving, conniving little Apple stealer.  They have taken my identity and they have used it much like Eve to purloin fruit that is not theirs.  Even discovering my wallet is gone and running back to see if chance against chance someone was honest enough to turn it in, is not enough.  By the time they are done, they have managed to get almost $4000 worth of Apples.  That’s a lot of Mac’s my friends.

It is not about the stuff.  It is not about the cards.  It is not about the fact that I’ve had to waste an entire day and lose valuable meeting time with my team mates at school.  It is about me.  I was in that wallet.  My picture on ID.  Pictures of my kids though luckily from years ago.  My address.  Receipts.  Gift cards.  Little pieces of me that they stole.  I am thankful to know nothing of the horrors of rape but I feel violated.  Laid open for anyone to use and abuse.  I’ve had to repeat the story over and over again today.  Not only to explain why I need my identity back but to also hopefully spare someone else the aggravation of a day like today.

This has hit me harder than I expected.  It has made me emotional.  I alternate between anger, sadness and glee that I got to buy a new wallet.  I’ve been touched by the officials who’ve kindly assisted in replacing my ID’s.  Even the manager at the Apple store, or one at least, has been sympathetic to the situation.  But what do they lose really ? What is my $4000 hiccup to their day ?  A slight blemish on Apple’s ample orchard.  Those rat faced little finks who stole my wallet ? They now know where I live.  This could haunt me for years.  I’ve had to throw up protective walls around every piece of me floating out there and even that might not be enough.  I can only hope that as the police suggested they threw the wallet away.  That their goal was to pillage the Apple organization as they pillaged my purse.

In the grand scheme I recognize that I got the better end of the deal.  I’m out a minor amount of money, a day in my week and a large dose of aggravation.  It could have been worse and I hope Karma will continue to work with me as it did today.  I’ve never been able to find so many great parking spots in one day as I have today.  I believe Karma said, Here.  We see you’ve had a bit of a kicking.  How ’bout we throw this little karmic bone to you ?  I actually said thank you a few times.

My tale of woe will end.  My emotions will stabilize.  I will keep reminding myself to count to 10 before I react to anything for another day or two.  I will exorcise this feeling of dread and anxiety.  I will remember that no one died.  I will try to shed no more tears – she of the no crying says hopefully.  I will remember that who I am still remains up to me.  In the simplest of terms, in the most convenient definitions, I am the pieces of my life.  And even my wallet can’t hold all of that.

Author: Elizabeth Plouffe

Writer, communicator, entrepreneur, tea enthusiast (bordering on fanatic) who enjoys helping others connect. Cookbook reader, cottage lover, book devourer (apparently I make up my own language too) and seeker of the ambition to exercise.

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