This morning was rather surreal.
After catching an early lift, and I mean really early, 5.15am early, with my dad to Fulham Broadway, after a relaxing Easter weekend in the Cotswolds, I drew some money, purchased a travel card and bordered the train bound for Wimbledon. Suitcases and all.
A half hour train journey and a 5 minute bus ride later I was home. Quickly on to my laptop to prepare for a morning meeting. First was the customary read of the latest blog posts on Afrigator though. The first post I stumbled upon was by Ideate, entitled “The Telling Wallet“. Below was the imagery displayed. Very hard to miss.
The post was all about what message a messy, bulky wallet sends to prospective clients when meeting them for the first time. Quite interesting. Quite true.
After reading the post I continued to read a few others before deciding it was time to work. Alas, an online payment was due. I felt my pockets for my wallet. It was not there. I scanned the room for it. It could not be seen. I searched my suitcase. I started to panic. I started to sweat. My life was in that wallet.
I re-tracked my movements around the flat. No luck. I re-tracked my movements to the bus stop. Still no luck. I went back inside and looked at my computer screen again. “The telling wallet” was on the screen.
What are the chances. This must be a sign. It was the first web image I saw this morning. My wallet was gone. Forever.
I began the pain staking task of holding for a Standard Bank operator to cancel my credit card. 25 minutes later it was done. Then I thought I’d give it one last chance and try re-trace my route back to Fulham Broadway.
I got on the 131 bus. I got off outside Sainsburys. I asked at Sainsburys if anyone had seen my wallet. I walked to Wimbledon station. I asked at the info desk about my wallet. I asked the platform supervisor. I asked the ticket sales officer. I reported my wallet missing to the Lost property department. You get the point. I asked a lot of people. I was bleak.
Finally I asked the underground supervisor, who phoned the Fulham underground supervisor. “Is this the South African Mark Forrester who recently traveled to the Heineken museum in Amsterdam?” I was asked. “Hell yeah it is”.
40 minutes later at Fulham Broadway station I was reunited with my long lost friend, and the 28 pounds, and the 5 euro, and all my credit cards.
My fat, messy, scrappy, wallet can tell people whatever it wants. I love it to pieces.
P.S. I expect a comment along the lines of “This would never happen in South Africa”. Not true. It has happened to me back home before back. And I was reunited with it, with all the money still inside. Even though I was about 500kms away when I discovered it was missing. My wallet loves me.
P.P.S. I’m not a scatterbrain. Ok except maybe when I’m sleep deprived. 🙂
P.P.P.S Am i really REALLY lucky, or is this divine intervention?