Christmas Cookies and Credit Cards
To the woman who stole my wallet, basically in front of me, I say shame on you. You walked in without fear. Pretended to be on the phone. Walked where you weren’t supposed to be, and when kindly asked if you needed assistance, looked me in the eye. You had my wallet in your bag as I told you where you should actually go, per your story. You had my identification in your possession as I assisted you, giving you directions. Then, when asked what we were, where she was, I informed you we were a nonprofit. You stole from me, in a nonprofit, at Christmas.
It was fishy from the start. But I saw you, it seemed impossible that you could have actually found something. You were in my office less than 15 seconds, because I basically followed you. My wallet was only on my desk because a coworker, doing me a favor and helping my kids bake cookies, said some warm apple cider would be a good touch. And she was right. So I grabbed my wallet, got $10, and walked it down to her. My wallet was on my desk less than a half hour. You were in the building less than 5 minutes. It was a perfect storm of opportunity. We were expecting guests, and tour participants, so you were greeted with kindness. You didn’t fit in, and I could tell that immediately. You were a fish out of water. But that didn’t matter to me, because I saw you as a person, not a criminal. Even after I caught you in my office I stood up for you, saying you were fishy but harmless. It all happened so fast. So damn fast. Then a while later I noticed my wallet was missing. I still wanted to believe I lost it.
To the woman who violated my trust, took my things, and charged hundreds of dollars I don’t have to lose. Who took my wallet that I love, an old check just waiting in case of emergency, a few gift cards, and helped herself to my trust and my cash and my credit cards—I say shame on you for putting me in a place where for a few hours I gave up on people. But know this, I SEE YOU. Under your bravado and thievery, you are a broken woman. And as much as I hate what you did to me, I feel sorry for you. Your life if not going well, you are broken—but I know you are a person, not a crime.
I refuse to see the next fish out of water as anything other than a fish who needs water. You will not make me see the bad in people, when all I want is to see the good. You will not bend me to your madness. I cannot live in a world where I immediately question someone who doesn’t fit in, I cannot perpetuate the stereotypes I try to avoid, and I cannot live with myself if I end up scared of everyday because you violated my trust—while looking me in the eye as I helped you.
I’m a helper. I’m an includer. And I will do my best to stay that way. My favorite line from a book is, “Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.“ (The Secret Garden). I can go dark or stay sad, or I can look for the roses. Tend the beauty. My kids baked. The place smelled like Christmas. I interacted with other clients. I was wearing a BELIEVE sweatshirt with Rudolf on it when I stopped at the police department on my way home, finally sitting on my couch at 11 PM. I didn’t want to scare anyone by having police show up. So I went to the police.
While there the police officer asked me about where I work. So I told him how I have the great honor of working with young adults on the autism spectrum. How we run a nonprofit dedicated to inclusion. How our mission is to provide meaningful work and social opportunities for young adults with autism.
We chatted more about our mission than my missing wallet. Then he said, “you are really good at your job.” Which made me chuckle inside. I consider myself an advocate for the underdog. Always have been. And there I sat, at the police station, nearing midnight, discussing a broken woman stealing from me, and I went into my story about why it feels good to do good. Is that irony? Or madness? It‘s a fine line. Just hours past a near miss panic attack, I advocated for the beauty that surrounds me. Doing my best to garner understanding, with less worry about the crazy long list of things I need to stand in long lines to replace, and more consideration for how I explained the beautiful place where I spend my days.
I’m a kind person. And choose to remain positive. To the woman who momentarily broke me, I hope you find some peace. I hope you bought gloves or food instead of drugs. And I hope I come out off his with more empathy, and quickly lose the pit in my stomach. And I hope I forever open the door, greet others with kindness, and choose conversation over judgement. Because next time, my wallet won’t be in their bag. And the person I’m chatting with will just be someone looking for connection, or an actual address
I refuse to turn off my authentic self in favor of preservation. I prefer to live in a world where we connect with others, not put our faces down and turn away from helping and seeing those who stand before us.
She hurt me, but only for a moment. And I can see now, her need is greater than mine. People living their best lives don’t do this kind of stuff. I see you. I hope you find peace.
