Where Did I Put the Damn Thing

Russ called Sunday morning to ask if I needed anything from Publix. After I read off the few items on my list, he said when he got home he'd take care of depositing the check I received last month as part of a settlement with  Met Life. The depositing had to be done online; I don't have an account at a bank here in Columbus. Because of the social distancing rules here at Covenant Woods, Russ can come no further than the entryway between the two sets of sliding doors.

"Put the check on the table out there, and I'll pick it up when I drop off the groceries," he said. "And I'll need your user name and password."

"They'll be there waiting for you," I said.

They were there when Russ arrived, but they hadn't been waiting. I handed the envelope with the check and log-in information to Shirley, who was working at the desk, and I asked her to put it on the table. Just as Shirley went out one set of sliding doors, Russ came in the other.

What took me so long? I'd made the mistake of putting the check in a safe place, a place I was absolutely certain I wouldn't forget where I'd put it. The second I got off the phone with Russ, I grabbed a sheet of paper to jot down the user name and password. And I didn't stop there, I also put down the answers to the security questions the bank's computer sometimes asks me. Then I opened the drawer to retrieve the check. The place I'd put it so I wouldn't forget where I'd put it. It wasn't there. For fifteen minutes, I searched and searched to no avail. It wasn't long before my biggest concern wasn't finding the check, it was finding a way to tell Russ I'd lost the check, without feeling like a certified idiot. The last possible place I thought it might be was in my checkbook. But, why would I put it there? I don't know, but I did.

The moral of this story? Never put important items somewhere you're sure you'll never forget having put them there.

.