Saturday, on the way to Gaskell, I noticed that my wallet was no longer in my bag. Hoping for the best, I decided not to panic until tomorrow when I'd be back at Fezziwigs and able to scrounge for it backstage. I got back on Sunday and couldn't find it there any of the possible obvious locations. I decided to wait on the full scale panic until after the end of the day. Around 3:00, Babs (our stage manager) caught me backstage and said the lead stage manager was looking for me. He had my wallet, much thumbed through, but everything was there save for the $21 I had. Credit cards, driver's license, reimbursement check from work, health insurance card, and everything else was still intact. It was discovered backstage at the other end of town. How it got there from our backstage, I'll never know. But it did, and I thought to myself that I'll cheerfully pay a $21 penalty for my inattention to properly securing my valuables. (I could've easily left my main wallet in the car and been much better off.)
As I was packing up on Sunday, I grabbed my little London handbag. I opened it to make sure I had everything important. In it was $21, neatly folded, that I had not placed there. I don't know who my guardian angel is, but they've now earned a special place in heaven, and they've given me a renewed sense of the goodness of people.
Today I was headed out to the Cow Palace to help tear down the warehouse. After a rather distracting earthquake in the late morning, I left the house rather less fully prepared than I'd intended. With a Hot Pocket in one hand, I headed toward the freeway, intending to not be too terribly late. I forgot one very important detail - I needed to stop for gas. I've never actually run out of gas before, so when my car started failing, I thought it was that I was in the wrong gear. By the time I'd reached the bottom of the onramp and had to merge, my car had died, and I was just putting the pieces together. By the time I was fully stopped with hazzard lights on, a chap in a pickup had pulled over and was walking over to push me out of the way. By all rights, I should be dead now, but he pushed me out of the roadway onto the shoulder. We made it to the side, and he loaned me his phone to call Triple A. Before I could finish the call, a CalTrans Freeway Rescue patrol truck had pulled up. I gave the first good samaritan his phone back, and he went on his way. I thanked him profusely, but didn't even catch his name. The Freeway Rescue chap, David, poured first one, then two gallons of gasoline in for free and after the second, the car started up and behaved as though nothing had ever been wrong. I said, "You must be everybody's hero." He said, "Almost." Wonder what he meant by "almost." He asked me to fill out a survey card and drop it in the mail. I tried to give him a tin of truffles, but he insisted that he wasn't allowed to accept gratuities of any kind, especially this time of year. I thanked again as best I could. Wish I could've hugged them both.
A bit shaken, I headed to the gas station for a fill-up, and a free car wash, and a much needed cup of coffee. Then I headed back home to grab my cel phone and call David at Fezziwigs and ask if they could still use my help even though I'll be late. He said I should stay home and have a day off and he'd see me on the third for the Peers Twelfth Night Ball.
I don't know what god or spirit or cosmic force is looking out for me, but I'm very glad they are.