Earlier this weekend, I was settling into my seat at the movie theater and about to text Lisa to let her know what I may be late to dinner when I realized that I had nothing to text her with. It was Saturday afternoon, and I was feeling culturally superior and relevant that Dwight and I had seen both "indie" movies that a loud girl on the T had wanted to see and were at the very theater she had talked about wanting to check out. But I had left my phone at Dwight's. He offered to drop it off after the movie, but I'd have no way of knowing when he was arriving or when I'd get home after dinner. ("People used to do this without cellphones, right?" "I don't know what you're talking about.) Finally, after an extra hour on the MBTA, a borrowed phone, and a ride from Dwight anyway, everything fell back into its natural order.
Until this morning. I paced around the apartment for a good 15 minutes looking for the remnants of my groceries run from last night. I'd refrigerated what needed to be frozen and thought I'd left my dried goods in the kitchen, or maybe foyer. But they were nowhere to be found. I thought I was going mad and was about to start accepting that misplaced items were going to be a fact of my life from now on when Landlady Chang put the pieces together. "Was there condensed milk in the bag?" "Yeah." "I think [Pam's boyfriend] took it home." "Why?" "He thought it was his." "He thought the bag of crackers, Asian mixed nuts, and condensed milk were his?" "I guess so?" While I feel for Pam that her boyfriend is absolutely insane, it's good to know that I'm not the crazy one.
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