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I framed this lo with my Metro tickets, sprayed with Archival Mist. I figured I should find something constructive to do with them after keeping them for 11 years!
Journaling reads: Before I begin, let me just say that I have always been terrible with wallets and purses. In the 3rd grade, I was at the skating rink and left my Hello Kitty wallet on the bench where I put my skates on. Someone found it later in the boys’ bathroom minus the $10 that my mom had given me.
We arrived in France on June 8th. On the 9th, we went around town just seeing the sights. We went to Notre Dame and checked out all the souvenir shops around the cathedral. On short distances we walked, but for longer distances we had a chartered bus. At some point between Notre Dame and dinner, I noticed that my wallet was no longer in my possession. I tore my backpack apart but it wasn’t in there. There was no way I could’ve been pickpocketed because I had a lock on my backpack. Worst of all, I had my mom’s American Express and all of my brother’s money in there (since he was underage I was required to hang on to his cash for him) too.
Our chaperones on the trip were several parents of kids attending, as well as some teachers from the middle school I attended (I was a Sophomore in college during this trip). My Erickson and his wife were chaperones. He was my 6-8th grade Social Studies teacher. My Niemeyer was my 6th grade Science teacher, and he also was a chaperone. Mr. Niemeyer agreed to go along to help me retrace my steps near Notre Dame, which was the last place I remembered seeing it. Getting back through the city without a guide was tough, and we kept getting wrong directions. It should’ve been a 30 minute trip, and it took 2 hours. We rode the Metro for what seemed like forever. The wallet was not at Notre Dame.
We decided to try some of the souvenir shops we’d looked in around the cathedral. The problem was that most of them were closed for the evening. At one shop, the conversation went something like this:
Me: Do you speak English?
Janitor: No. Do you speak French?
Me: Very little and not enough to tell you what I need.
Janitor: Do you speak another language?
Me: Yes, Spanish. Do you speak Spanish?
Janitor: Yes! What is it that I can help you with?
Me: I lost my wallet. Have you seen it? It’s black.
Janitor: No, sorry.
So, here I am speaking Spanish to a janitor in downtown Paris. The entire day got stranger from there. Shortly after my conversation with the janitor, the sky opens and we get completely wet from head to toe. It also is beginning to get chilly at this point, and our clothes are soaked. I still have no wallet and very little cash (less than $20) in my possession. As a result of me losing my wallet, my brother has no cash either. My mother’s American Express is also floating around somewhere in Paris and I have no calling card to call her because it’s in my wallet! I was in tears and nearly hysterical by the time we got back to our group.
When we got back to our hotel late in the evening, our guide had a phone message that my wallet had been found on the seat on the bus. I had left it behind when we got out for the day. My wallet was black and so was the seat, so it blended right in. We had to borrow money from Mr. Erickson to get through the evening, but I was so glad to have my wallet back. Whoever returned it was a very honest person because it had my entire life in there, not to mention a fairly decent amount of money, both French francs and American dollars. It’s an adventure I’ll never forget, but don’t care to repeat! To this day, my memories of our day at Notre Dame are tainted by losing my wallet.
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