Losing It In The Rim Country



Over the course of my lifetime, I have lost 27 pairs of sunglasses. During that same time frame, I have found two pairs of sunglasses. I was never very good at math, but it seems to me there is a major discrepancy here.

What I want to know is, who found all the sunglasses I lost? And because my lost-to-found ratio is very bad, does that mean somebody else must have a very good lost-to-found ratio (and a closet full of my sunglasses)?

Either that or all the angels in heaven are floating around looking really cool because they're wearing the sunglasses that were lost on earth.

Which got me to thinking about the things people lose on a fairly regular basis. Which sent me on a tour of the production area of the Roundup wherein reside the infamous tandem of Dave and Jay and a number of other roustabouts who prefer anonymity, including Marge, the tomato lady.

Here, in no particular order, are the anonymous musings and losings of the production crew and other assorted Rounduppers who happened to wander through:

  • My socks -- Probably the most popular lost item of all time is the lowly sock. I use the singular version because people always lose just one sock, often in the washing machine, dryer, or somewhere in between.

Unlike sunglasses, the fate of lost socks seems obvious to me. They end up in one of two sock black holes -- one underneath your washer and the other underneath your dryer.

One Roundupper said he has lost so many single socks, he has a second sock drawer just for his single socks. He also lamented the fact that the sock that comes up missing is always from his favorite pair.

(To our knowledge this employee has not sought professional help for his sock fetish, but now that he's out of the closet we are planning to do a group intervention very soon.)

  • My earring backs -- A mostly female issue. A guy would just stick the earring through the ear (with the aid of WD-40) and put a dab of caulking on the tip. Problem solved.
  • My money -- There are all kinds of ways to lose money besides the conventional one. You can lose it at the casino. You can lose it in a divorce. You can lose it with your socks in the laundry (the sock black holes accept cash, but not credit cards).
  • My hair -- A mostly male issue. Ever notice how some men have a sense of humor about their baldness and some don't.
  • My sense of humor -- See "My hair" above. But really, we all lose our sense of humor on occasion, even if we have hair.
  • My golf balls -- You know how I feel about golf, so the more golf balls that get lost the better. In a world with a finite fresh water supply, that game is an abomination. But don't get me started.
  • My mind -- Admit it: even you lose your mind on occasion.
  • My keys -- Not that we all haven't lost our keys, but this Roundupper says she did it on a regular basis, and that each time it happened it became a very big deal. So now she has spare keys scattered all over town.
  • My reading glasses -- Me too, right up there with sunglasses. But mine aren't really lost like sunglasses; they're merely misplaced. My solution: have 12 pairs strategically positioned all over the house.
  • My time -- "Every time I turn around I lose time," a high Roundupper said.
  • My patience -- Easily fixed by counting to 10.
  • My pens -- Fortunately some years ago Jacques deBallpointe invented a pen that costs mere pennies, effectively ending the cost associated with losing your pen. Except it always seems to happen when you need to sign something.
  • My hair combs -- OK, this friend of mine loses combs. A throwaway item like the ballpoint pen, you say. Not if you use an English cut Kent comb like this guy. Look this outfit up on the 'net and you'll find that Kent is a fine old British company that has been in the comb business since 1777. They currently offer 22 different combs ranging in price from $5-$12.

"Their mock tortoise combs retain the handmade beauty that only skilled craftspersons can provide," they say with a shameless lack of modesty.

(To my knowledge this friend has not sought professional help for his comb fetish, but now that he's out of the closet we are planning to do a group intervention soon.)

  • My innocence -- Perhaps the most tragic loss of all is that moment when you realize there is no Santa Claus.

Commenting has been disabled for this item.