Places I'm Not

I can see his alarm clock from where I'm sitting. The alarm sounded at 7 a.m. and I already had a feeling this is how it would go down. The bright red digital display has spent the better part of an hour trying to point this doofus my way. The gesture is appreciated, we inanimate objects have to stick together, but he barely pays the clock any attention while it's performing its function. The colon between the hour and the minutes flashes futilely. By now the clock has burned 7:xx into my retinas -- at least it would have, if I had eyes.

I'm just a brown leather tri-fold wallet. The leather is a little worn, but I wear it well. There's a driver's license in here, along with cards that you can use to buy things, cards that you can't use to buy things, and a few small bills. I'm exactly what you expect to see when the random stranger on the street asks you to envision a wallet. That's me. I'm in your mind. I'm also in his mind, but unfortunately not in his hand, or in his pocket. Wait -- he's checking a different pocket. And... no dice. While he's turning the house upside-down, let's talk about some other places I'm not.

I am not on the nightstand. I should be on the nightstand, because that's where the man usually puts me. That's where he expects me to be. I'm not there because, in the middle of the night on a Tuesday, this guy sat all the way up in bed and had two thoughts: he needed to order cat litter, right now, and he needed to use the bathroom, right now. So he grabbed his phone and his wallet and completed his Chewy order on the toilet. On his way back to bed, in a state of half-sleep, he tossed me onto the dresser.

The dresser sounds like a reasonable place to look for me, right? That would make too much sense. His first stop was the kitchen. It was a nice try; most household objects end up in the kitchen at one time or another. I've been there a time or two. Too bad for Stupid, that's not where I am. I'm not on a counter, I'm not in a drawer, and I'm not in the fridge. He checked the fridge. I heard the door open and close, and then I heard a colorful word. Has he left something in there before? I'll have to ask around.

He came back to the bedroom and looked at the nightstand. I assume that jogged his memory of the late-night purchase, because the next stop was the bathroom. A cabinet door opened and closed. Objects were picked up and put back down. The porcelain lid of the toilet tank ground its way a few inches to one side for a quick peek. Well, thank goodness I'm not in there.

A few minutes ago he actually came pretty close. He must have decided to continue his morning routine, making the most of the time while he works out where he left me. This brought him back to the bedroom and all the way to the dresser. He took a look at the objects on the dresser while he straightened his tie. This actual adult human, with a white-collar job and a mortgage, looked directly at me. He looked, but did not see.

He was looking for a closed, brown leather wallet, just like the one you've been picturing. When he tossed me onto the dresser, I landed open with cards of several colors facing outward. So even with his face staring right back at him from his driver's license, the connection was not made.

The hour on the alarm clock has switched over to 8. It seems he has given up for now. Being a responsible, if silly, guy, he made a call to a coworker to ask for a ride. It's been a couple weeks since the last time, and his friend doesn't sound too upset about it. That's good. I'm glad he has friends. Good for him.

In the meantime, I'll be here, and I hope dude doesn't need to make any more purchases today. I didn't hear him pack a lunch.