Intentions. I always have them. They’re my “but…” sort of clause to everything.
They’re my “I meant,’” “I should;” my excuse for misuse, of term and promise.
I forgot my drop at PF Changs. Lunch was interesting and fabulous, grouped and longer than planned, and I completely forgot to bring my abandonment with me. I adjusted disappointment with the rationale that I would have had to wait until the restroom was empty, which wouldn’t have been likely with the full house of diners.
My next intended target was the pet store. After considering the melee likelihood of right-before-Christmas work and shopping traffic, I never even tried. I thought I’d come up with a better idea, anyway.
Christmas Eve Day at the Chiropractor, someone would find my starry pin. I was leaning toward the bathroom again, but this bathroom is just a one-person, regular door lock bathroom; there’s be no in-out traffic. I excitedly placed it prominently on top of the paper towel dispenser, and took a picture for posterity. I immediately reconsidered for perceived cleanliness concerns, wondering if I would pick up a “gift” in a restroom. I might, but I also didn’t want it to be found while I was still there. I tagged my pin, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to figure out where it came from. That would be embarrassing.
I re-pocketed my prize. Even though I hadn’t used it, I ceremoniously flushed the toilet. I figured it might seem assumedly gross to anyone who had watched me go in, or would see me come out, if that sound was missing. Then, I washed my hands, because I’d touched the toilet handle.
There was no chance for hallway stealth, either. Every chair was unusually filled with Christmas Eve day drop-ins. At the risk of causing concerns for my health, I would revisit the restroom on my way out, reclaim my drop spot, and be done with it. No one passed by on their way to the exit while I was waiting for a room to open, but a staff member pointed to a doorway and told me I could go in. The occupied sign was flipped, but it wasn’t really empty. As a patient was still gathering her belongings, I saw another, easier, possibility!
I would simply leave my abandonment in the table-room after my adjustment. It would be much more appealing to find a random present there than any random lavatory. I’ll be a little slow putting on my coat. I’ll hesitate a moment, and when left alone, quickly set it on a waiting chair, and stealthily slip out. I couldn’t help but wonder which one of the waiters would be gifted. They all looked like pleasant people, albeit in a bit of pain. Glancing over my shoulder gave me a glimpse of whom it would be traveling home with, and a satisfied internal glow. It was done! Abandoned, to surely be found, and I was happy.
With one hand on the exit door, seconds away from complete and true success, wishing all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, I was flagged down.
A cheerful staff member stood waving a recognizable little packet in my direction. “Is this yours?” she asked, adding, “It was on a chair in the room you were in.”
I felt my jaw drop and managed to mumble, “It was supposed to be there.” “Was it a gift for the Doctor?” she asked. “No,” I replied dejectedly, “No.” I probably should have brought one as a gift for her, or at least a holiday card, or something. “It was supposed to be there,” I explained again without much conviction, followed by the compelling need to explain the details of these supposedly anonymous random art drops, which mine was no longer.
“Should I give it back to the lady who found it?” she asked. “Yes,” I said, “unless she doesn’t want it, then feel free to keep it, or pass it on, or whatever….”
And that was that. I don’t know if the finder kept it, or if someone else might have loved it. It might come up at my next adjustment appointment, but I hope not. I wish I’d thought fast enough to respond differently. Perhaps, if I had said, “Yes,” I could have reclaimed it, re-headed for the restroom and re-ended the abandonment fiasco in exactly the same spot it had begun twenty-five minutes earlier.
Instead, I abandoned the situation, thinking what I’ve been thinking about every little thing since my early October luck-slide began. Every attempt to attempt anything in a reasonable way in a reasonable amount of time has been met with the Universe’s loudest protest, to which I have repeatedly shouted back, “Really?! It shouldn’t be this hard!!”
Lessons for me: Good intentions can be miresome, and even happy-ending stealth can make you feel guilty of something.
I’ve been scrolling for “mail call” two weeks now. The find hasn’t been reported. I know for a fact it was found, so I’m a little bogged down by the disappointment that comes from a craving for gratification. I’ve since learned that it’s not cool to tag items for recognition, or, for that matter, pumping for sales.
I’m sure I’ll do it, again, hopefully more anonymously. Hoping it will become easier with knowledge and repeat, because “intention” should never be followed by “was.”
Quote for the Week:
Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:
Buddhist Solutions – How To Give Without Return: (watch until at least 20:00)
Paulo Coehlo – Give Love, Seek No Reward:
Not Only at Christmas: