Keianna

When I got called out of my film class and told to go to the front office, I was confused to the say the least. I decided to take the longer path there, pondering the ways I might have landed myself in trouble. I’ve been going out of my way to stay out of trouble and get good grades. I’d later laugh at myself for that “I’m going to the office so I must be in trouble” mindset.

When I finally stepped into the office and explained to the receptionist that I’d been called up, there was a bit of confusion about exactly WHO had called me up. For some reason, this added to my anxiety and I started to think up very dramatic and unrealistic scenarios about what was happening. What if I’d just won a million dollars and someone was going to pop out and give it to me? No, what if Ezra Koenig saw my tweets asking him to tell me a joke and he’s here to do so in person?

By the time I’d discreetly looked around the room to confirm that neither a million dollars or Ezra Koenig was there hiding, the receptionist had figured out why I was there and told me to walk down the hall.

I need to give a bit of backstory. In November, my wallet was stolen. After a day of hanging out with friends, I’d decided to stop at the thrift store and pick up a new outfit. While I was trying on a pair of shoes, I put my bag down next to me and someone reached in and grabbed the cat-shaped wallet my friend had brought me back from her trip to Japan. In the security video, we could see the hand but the person who did it is hidden behind a large wardrobe.

Back to the front office at school. When I got down the hall I was greeted by another receptionist who holding up a familiar cat-shaped wallet. By now you know that my first thought when given a surprising situation is to jump to unrealistic conclusions. In this case: The receptionist had recognized me from school and taken my wallet to mess with me.

Honestly, where do I get this stuff? I’m glad I didn’t say that aloud—it would have been really embarrassing. Instead, she explained that it’d been sent to the school because I’d had my school I.D. in the wallet. My money wasn’t there anymore but everything else was, including all the pins and little notes I’d collected in the months before it was stolen.

I left the office and called my grandma to tell her the gripping tale of the returned wallet then went to class and retold the story to my teacher.

“Doesn’t it feel a little weird to know that someone you’ll never meet had possession of your things?” he asked.

Well, now it does.

I couldn’t forget what he’d asked all day, because the same could be said about many of the things I currently own. Most of my clothes are from thrift shops, or hand-me-downs from people at church’s adult children whom I’ve never met. I donate many of my clothes when I’m done with them. Who owned the stuff I have before me? Who owns my stuff now? Is anything REALLY real? Wouldn’t it be nice to know? Now that I’m thinking about it, that sounds a little creepy. Well, since I don’t know the beginning or end of every item I’ve ever owned, I guess I’ll just go and do what I do best—make up dramatic scenarios about it. ♦