Everything Is Lost!

The Fates. In Greek mythology, they were the three Morai and masters of our metaphorical “thread of life.” Clotho spun the thread, Lachesis measured the thread, and if your existence came to an end, it was because Atropos cut your thread. I’m sure you’ve seen these witches of destiny in Disney’s Hercules or Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

Recently, The Fates took an interest in the existence of my belongings. Normally, I would charge myself as caretaker and take full responsibility, but such could not be so.

On this particular day, a co-worker and I went out for a drink. It was still somewhat cold in Chicago, and I was thus equipped with the usual warm bicycle gear.

Fast forward to leaving the bar, I noticed my balaclava (a type of face mask) was missing. I went back to my seat, checked the bathroom and asked the hostesses about it. My beloved balaclava was nowhere to be found.

“Oh well,” I tell myself. “I can always buy another.”

I said goodbye to my co-worker and unlocked my bike from the rack outside, ready to brave the cold without my mask. I rolled little more than 10 feet before realizing my back tire was flat. Now, I had to take the bus.

“Oh well,” I tell myself. “I can get a new tube in the morning.”

I trekked to the bus on foot and used my bus card to pay. I settled Bikey into the front rack, which is visible through the windshield. About two blocks from my stop, I looked through said windshield and noticed my seat cover was missing. It must’ve flown off sometime during the ride.

“Oh well,” I tell myself. “I can buy another one of those too.”

At that point, I was beginning to wonder what tricks The Fates still had for me. In an act of paranoia, I double-checked my back pocket to ensure my bus pass’ safety. Thankfully, it was still there.

I rolled Bikey all the way to my apartment, went inside and changed my clothes. Seeing my jeans lying on the floor, I remembered to get my bus pass out of the pocket. It was now missing. I searched through all the relevant items in my bedroom, retraced my steps from the door, and even got redressed, walked all the way back to the bus stop and all the way back to the apartment. I could not find it.

“Oh well,” I tell myself. “I can always buy another, but this is seriously getting ridiculous!”

Over the course of one evening, four important items ceased existing in my life. I wasn’t sure whether to blame Lachesis’ ironic thread measuring or Atropos’ inability to put her scissors down.

Whatever the cause, there is one bright side to the story, and it’s somewhat comedic.

While I was out searching for my bus pass, my roommate came back, spotted it on the bathroom floor, mistook it for her own and went to bed. Minutes later, I came back and (remembering the bathroom) checked the floor. Of course, it wasn’t there anymore.

Timing is everything, eh?

She returned it in the morning.

 

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