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I keep my whole life in a little Coach wristlet: keys on the outside, and on the inside a credit card, debit card, my drivers license, my work ID, a tiny notepad and pen, cash and loose change, and lip gloss. It’s all I ever need, and it goes wherever I do.

Except when it doesn’t. I was halfway back from Subway today when I realized that I had left it behind. David and I ran back to the restaurant and lo, it was gone. The workers at Subway hadn’t seen or heard of it, and two women who had been there since we were last confirmed that a woman had come to the table and left in the last few minutes.

Initially my mind was racing with the hassles of getting back to work without ID, canceling all activity on my credit cards, getting a new copy of my drivers license, etc. I only really started to panic when I realized that I had lost both the keys to my home and official documentation on where that home was, and deeper problems surfaced, like getting locks changed before strangers ransacked my apartment. That is, if they hadn’t made a beeline for it immediately after realizing that I live on the yuppie side of town.

If you are ever going to zip your whole life up in a little, easy to conceal package and leave it in a mob of strangers, I recommend doing it in the city courthouse. Other building workers referred me to security (who, located upstairs, I probably wouldn’t have found on my own), who called a local officer who had run to me within 3 minutes, asking me to describe the features of the keychain on the wristlet as we made our way to the station, where it was returned to me. Pretty great service, but it gets better. The officer asked me what was missing, and I told him that a small amount of cash had been taken, but I was hardly concerned about that and was very happy to have my things back so quickly. Just because I happened to know and I thought it might be useful for an incident report, I told him that by “a small amount,” I meant 25 dollars- a 20 dollar bill and a 5.

He asked me to wait right where I was, and ran out the door. He returned moments later with my separate, folded bills—no doubt the exact ones I had lost. I was amazed. He didn’t offer an explanation, but I had to ask, “how did you get this back? do you know who took it?” He half-smiled and nodded.

I elected not to press charges because ostensibly the person had returned the majority of my property willingly. I’m making cookies to bring to the police department tomorrow, but after today’s experience I sort of wish it were possible to bring them for the whole city. So many people recognized me on the street on the way to the station and on the way out, and they were all so warm…expressing genuine concern rather than just wanting the gossip. Today I’m thinking that Durham is not such a bad place to be.