I lost an awesome scarf last month. Totally on an impulse, I grabbed it out of the closet and threw it around my neck just as we were running out the door to the airport. Got on the plane, got hot, took off the scarf and threw it on the seat next to me. Three hours later, tired and bored, I staggered off the plane without a look back. The minute I threw my suitcase in the back of the cab, I knew what I'd done, and I knew there was no way I could get back to the gate -- the only boarding pass I had was for Long Beach Airport, several thousand miles away.
For the next week, I traded voicemails with O'Hare and JetBlue, and at one point, reached a woman who was physically holding her scarf in my hand as we spoke on the phone. She told me she was storing the scarf in a drawer in JetBlue's baggage office and I could stop by and get it anytime. Every part of that last sentence turned out to be wrong: The scarf vanished without a trace, never to be found again.
I'm sick about it, still. I bought the scarf in a cute shop in Dublin when I was visiting my sister, and it was, in many ways, the apotheosis of my personal aesthetic. It was wooly, and lavender, with stripes of pink, aqua and green. As in "The Big Lebowski," it tied together literally dozens of different outfits. And in the blink of an eye, I lost it forever. The incompetence of JetBlue didn't help matters, but in the end, I left it on the plane, and I'm to blame.
The terrible thing (and I mean terrible in its original meaning, causing or likely to cause terror), the terrible thing about screenwriting is that a big part of my job is crafting scenarios just like the previous three paragraphs, only worse and more frustrating, and usually involving things more significant than a scarf. It's a form of hell, really. I'm a deeply conflict averse person, who mourns lost opportunities and past mistakes as if they were teeth pulled in the course of a decade-long torture session. And yet every day, I open a can of whup-ass on poor, unsuspecting bastards who had the bad luck to end up in my screenplay.
The good news is that there's usually a happy ending at the end of the road. In my case, I called the shop in Dublin and got them to send me a scarf that, I'm willing to bet, is either the exact same pattern as the lost scarf, or so close that it makes no difference.
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I had my wallet and ipod stolen from my purse at work. by a friend. i can't prove it or call her out on it because of office politics, but i know it was her. my purse was left unattended for 15 minutes in a locked room that was only accesible to employees. 3 people saw her in that room during the time period. and she left work at noon that day. the first charge was made at 12:33pm. she totally did it.
sure, i was upset when it happened. and i was disturbed that someone violated my trust, but in time i got over it. i've replaced my wallet and its contents, and filed a claim with my credit cards. i haven't gotten my ipod back, but that hasn't killed me.
why am i telling you this?
because 4 weeks later, my beautiful pink and blue scarf was stolen from my desk at work. i don't know who did it, but i suspect it was the night cleaning crew. when i left work i realized that i left it there but i was running late for a rehearsal so i couldn't go back to get it.
the scarf was $5 in chinatown. the glued on label said it was a pashmina, but i know better than that. i don't care. i am still devastated by having lost it. it haunts me. i see photos of myself wearing it and my heart sinks. through all of the seasons i wore that scarf. it smelled like every purfume and soap i have ever used. when i was nervous, i'd rub it on my cheek.
i don't care about the ipod and wallet. but i will never get over that scarf.
(okay, okay--that last statement was a tad overly dramatic, but you get my drift...)
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