Maybe I'll be a Detective for Halloween

Last week I misplaced five bucks, the change from a purchase I made on the way to campus. I didn't notice for a few hours; in fact, I was never really sure the money was unaccounted for. I just could never recall spending it, though making unremembered purchases is kind of a talent I've got.

And then this week the horrible possible truth dawned on me: after stuffing the fiver in my pocket on the way out of CVS and before I noticed said bill was no longer there, I was in the library at a study table up on the dimly lit and rarely visited seventh floor. I was minding my own business, studying scripture I believe,¹ when a guy came walking up the aisle from behind me and asked quietly if he could borrow a pen. I obliged him and he left; I never saw him again, nor did I look for him to ask for my pen back later.

So what could it all mean? Perhaps this bloke, having noticed a five-dollar bill fall out of my pocket when I dug around for a pen or an iPod or my keys or whatever I might have dug in my pockets for, concocted the pen-borrowing racket as a scheme to pick up the dough without my noticing. He could've just walked up and, bending over as if to whisper his request to me, snatched the money off the floor. The cad! The audacity he had!

And the part that really bothers me is that he stole my pen. I mean, I would've given it to him freely—I did—but the idea that he used my good will to cheat me for not only five bucks but also a Papermate Write Bros. medium point pen really annoys me.


¹There's a double meaning in that.