I lost my bus pass this week. No, I’m not a senior citizen, although I feel like it some days, but it’s not that kind of bus pass. Instead it’s a handy little card called an Eco-Pass, provided by Denver’s public transport company and heavily subsidized by my employer. It allows me to travel anywhere on the public transport system, bus or train and living as I do, almost 50 miles from my office, I take advantage of it every day I can. Not only do I save on gas, and wear and tear on Angus, I can avoid paying downtown Denver’s exorbitant parking charges. It’s a wonderful thing. Except when it magically disappears from my wallet as I found it had done on Thursday morning.
I was pretty sure I knew how I’d come to lose it. The previous Tuesday, which was the last day I’d ridden the bus, disembarking had been something of a challenge due to the incredibly slow elderly lady in front of me and the fact that I was trying to take a cell phone call whilst juggling my coat and backpack in the other hand and the Eco-pass in my third. This is probably why my phone ended up bouncing down the steps of the bus and ejecting its battery into the snow. Somewhere in the kafuffle my pass vanished.
Hoping I’d simply put the card in my shirt pocket, as I’ve done before, I called Dear Wife and asked that she check the laundry basket for the shirt I’d been wearing. No pass. How about the jacket? Nope, not there either. Lost and Found once more came up blank (See Dress for Success) so lunchtime found me at the transport company office going through the ordeal of obtaining a replacement. You would think for the $25 replacement fee they would have given me one with a better looking photo on it.
Historically, I haven’t had good luck with cards. When I set out on my 2-year quest to become a full time hippie, I took all the usual steps. Quit my job, sold my apartment, renounced all worldly possessions and ordered myself a credit card. After all, I had to have some way to access the several thousand dollars sitting in my bank account. On hindsight, it would have been better for me to have ordered two credit cards, so I would have been able to eat during the times when the first one went missing.
The first occasion was only a couple of months into my trip. I’d found myself the sole resident of a rather cheerless backpacker’s hostel in Ballarat, Australia and anxious to preserve my funds, was spending a lonely night in my room. To pass the time I spring cleaned my bag and cleared out a bunch of receipts, tourist leaflets, old maps and the like. Oh, and my credit card. I chucked that in the bin too although I didn’t notice until almost a week later when I next went to draw some cash.
The girl at the bank was very sympathetic but there was little she could do to help so I found myself backtracking to Melbourne, the nearest big city where Visa had a base. Ten days for a replacement so all I had to do was survive until then on the $12.50 I had in my pocket. I achieved this by mooching off friends; living on their couch, eating their food and making myself as accommodating as possible by cleaning the house, running errands and the like. They were good people but I don’t think any of us were sorry when the big day finally arrived and I set out to Visa’s office bright and early, ready to pick up my new card and be on my way.
They had mislaid my paperwork and had never processed the application.
My British accent was still pretty strong in those days and it’s possible they didn’t catch all the words I used but I think I got my point across. Even so, it was another ten days before I finally received a shiny new Visa card and could set off on my trails once more. On hindsight, I could simply have called my folks and have them wire money out but I was still young and naïve back then and didn’t want them to know I’d screwed up so early on my travels.
I had no such compunction the next time, over a year later when I lost my credit card again. By now I’d suffered through two more bouts of being unable to access my stash after maxing out my (pitifully inadequate) credit limit on plane tickets and having to wait a week or so until my bank back home settled the monthly bill. On both of those occasions I’d carelessly dipped into my “emergency” fund and on the latter had found myself with only $3 to my name. I threw myself on the mercy of the hostel manager and begged a week’s board on credit, then blew the lot on a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter – my only food for the next six days. On day two, someone stole the peanut butter.
So when my card once more mysteriously disappeared in Phoenix, Arizona; I didn’t think twice about calling home collect and giving my dear old Dad detailed instructions on how International Money Transfers worked. If I’d thought obtaining a replacement card in Australia had been frustrating, it was nothing to the drama I went through trying to get one in Arizona. However, as that episode led (albeit somewhat circuitously) to me becoming a permanent resident of the USA, I think it merits a Gunsmoke File of its own someday. Suffice to say, the day after I reported it lost, my card turned up safe and sound, but due to the lock on the account, totally unusable.
I had reason to reflect on this sad tale while I was dressing for work on Monday morning. The clocks went forward this weekend so the first day of the week found me even groggier than usual as I hauled on my clothes in the darkness. Underwear successfully negotiated, on with the shirt, then the pants. I hadn’t even finished zipping up the fly when I felt a mysterious scratching on my hip. I checked the pocket and a second or two later was staring in befuddlement at a perfectly serviceable, but completely useless Eco Pass. It hadn’t occurred to me to have Dear Wife check my trouser pockets.
So...anyone want to buy an almost new Eco Pass, valid through the end of this year?
Hey c’mon! It’s not as though the picture even looks like me!
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