Things In My Bag

I carry a lot of things around with me - everything from tissues, gum and money to a book to read in unexpected free moments, spare keys and a first aid kit. I am constantly sorting out my bag. I sort the different items into categories and rearrange which of the many pockets various things go in. My bag will be perfectly organized until the first time I open it that day; at a store or while in the car and suddenly needing something or other. Then all hell breaks loose. I pull money or a credit card out of my wallet and do not put the change back in its designated slot. I fish around for tissues and dislodge all of the carefully placed items around them. I stuff receipts and quickly scribbled notes into any old pocket and figure I will re-sort my bag later in the day.

This alternating overconcern and callous disregard for my belongings led to some of the best and worst times of my life. Like the time I found a kitten and scooped her up and tucked her in my bag. When I got to the vet and pulled her out she ended up being a baby skunk. Best? Worst? You decide. Another time I stuffed a bunch of checks in my bag after a particularly profitable birthday. On my way to the bank I grabbed a bottle of soda. You can guess the rest of that story. Many times I took the kids to the movies and filled my bag with drinks and snacks - saving untold amounts of money at the concession stand.

Once, on a weekend trip, I left my bag in a store and had to drive 75 miles back to retrieve it. Often the weight of my bag full of generally unneeded stuff is a burden. Lugging it around is tiring, shifting it from shoulder to shoulder. But then someone needs a band aid or an aspirin or hairbrush or some Tic-tac's or a pen or a safety pin or some hand lotion and I am the hero of the moment.

Then there was the time I was meeting with a potential donor for a charity I worked for. I arrived early and was shown in to his office. I sat nervously on the couch peering into my bag, looking for some courage. He swept into the room, startling me. I leapt up and my bag went sailing through the air. The entire contents spilled all over his tastefully carpeted office floor. Red with embarrassment, I dove to the floor, scrambling to grab tampons and loose change, bobby pins and lip balm. He crouched down to help me, murmuring comforting words. "Here you go," "I've got that." "I think this is yours!"

I burst into tears, my precarious professional façade shattered. As we shoveled the last of the debris into my bag he asked, "Did you want to ask me for a donation?" I nodded, snuffling into a convenient tissue I found on the floor. "How about $50,000?" He asked. I now began crying tears of joy. I was planning to ask for $5000! Misunderstanding the reason for my renewed bawling, he quickly upped his offer to $100,000. I staggered to my feet and hugged him ferociously. He patted my back, smiled and went to his desk. He withdrew a little black book from his breast pocket and made a notation. "There," he said, "I have logged it in my calendar and you will have a check within the week."

That episode decided for me whether it was worth carrying all that stuff around - it absolutely was!