Calm Down. Everything's Fine: I Did Not Lose My DS Afterall.

Don't be mad, Precious!

Yesterday after work I headed to dreaded Target to pick up some toilet paper. Now now. The toilet paper is an important detail that will be fulfilled later in the post--not just another excuse for poop jokes. On my way out of Target and before picking up beer at Byerly's, I realized that my DS was not in my left hip pocket, where it would normally be after work.

There was an initial wave of panic and heavy breathing (and not the normal kind that's also associated with toilet paper). I calmed down, though, once I decided I must have simply left my DS in my desk at the bank. I fired up the truck, Grond, blasted the 'Pod through my new aux-out stereo deck, and crossed the street to Byerly's, in search of delicious, discounted beer without another thought for my stranded DS.

This morning I expected to slide open my desk drawer to see my DS frowning up at me, impatiently tapping its stylus like a mother having stayed up all night waiting for a naughty son to come home. My DS, however, was not there.

An aside: When I lose things I react in subtly different ways. When I lose a round of Smash Brothers, I congratulate the winner and resist the urge to happy poke their ribs. When I lose a softball game (happens a lot), I remind myself I'm playing for fun, tradition, and pitcher beer after the game. When the Wild lost in this year's playoffs to the Colorado Avalance in six games, I wrote an epic, season's end post that took ten hours to compile (all on company time, of course). When I lost my cat, Fizzgig, in Jr. High to a urinary problem treatable only by euthanasia, I was down for a month but not wailing my lamentations. In all these cases, my reactions are (usually) pretty calm and collected.

R.I.P. Fizzgig

I had already reacted poorly to this most recent loss of my DS the night before. Then, I was more disappointed about not being able play. I had thought I knew where the DS was. This second realization of the contrary was different. More panic, heavier breathing, a tear or two etc.

I asked myself all sorts of questions starting with "who," "what," "when," and such, but nothing came to mind. There are only a few places my DS ever rests: my pocket, my desk at home, my desk at work, and the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom at work (echo... echo...).

Everyone's got to pull up their pants some time, and most of us need two hands. I have left it there on the dispenser a couple times. Before long afterwards, though, I would race back and snatch it up with an apology and a buffing of the screens. This time I had left it there over night, not just a few minutes.

Time was my enemy in more ways than one. The longer it sat there, the more likely I would never see it again. And I had all morning to worry. I emailed friends for consolation. I drafted a mock-up for a potential "Have You Seen Me?" poster with important info like: "Hello. I'm a DS who's only a year old. I respond to the name 'Precious,' I'm afraid of the dark, and my previous owner misses me so much!"

I called three fellow employees, one of whom cleans the whole bank and the community bathrooms for the building in which the bank is located. That bathroom is my paradise away from my desk and the trolls on the phone. He didn't see it when he cleaned the previous night. I wanted to grill him, squeeze the facts and the truth out of him. But I restrained. No one else knew how to get a hold of the building maintenance guy, or if there even was a lost-and-found. As if, I thought, anyone would give up such a sweet find...

That is, unless they worked in the building and thought someone might come lookin' for it.

Another aside: I have a peculiar relationship building with the Cool Animator Dudes and Cute Animator Girls who work at a medical animation company that shares the second floor of our office building. The only time I see any of them and share a greeting, is en route to and from the bathroom. Many of these guys I only see while in the bathroom. They're all genuinely friendly, young, tattooed, and hip--a fresh breath compared to the sterile, back-stabbing, stressfest goings-on at the bank. When I see these people, it's like I'm at The Herkimer having a Dunkel Weiss and sharing The Onion headlines that we picked up from a rack in the entry way.

It's a bizarro relationship built solely on intersecting bowel movement cycles.

I found some hope in another realization of good chances: that one of these guys could have found the DS on the TP dispenser and felt pity, because maybe he has forgotten something of his on the same dispenser--maybe even his own DS! I hoped whoever found it would fire it up and noticed the homebrew card, with a fully marked calendar and planner, and I hoped it would make them realize the owner takes far more than casual enjoyment from the device.

I put my faith in betting on honest, office cohabitants, sucked up my pride and went forth to ask an embarrassing question.


INT. HIP ANIMATION STUDIO - AFTERNOON

MASON enters the wide double-doors and scans the room, awe and jealousy evident on his face. The vivid, colorful design in the room is testament to the creativity and imagination necessary for their line of work. They even have life-giving plants. The institutional sterility of the bank's decor speaks to dollars-and-cents, overdraft fees, performance reviews, and cover-your-ass customer service.

MASON V.O.
There is hope here. Hope smells like ideas,
Peace Coffee, and 3d-rendering.
(sniffs)
I can smell the DS too.

A Cute Animator Girl and the owner of the company are chatting at the front desk. Both see Mason enter and welcome him. The girl recognizes him from their intersecting bowel movement cycles. Mason has only seen the owner twice: once when the animators moved in a year and a half ago, and the second time being now, just before asking a humbling question.

CUTE ANIMATOR GIRL
Hi.

OWNER
How can we help you?

MASON
Umm. Well, I work at the bank...

Gestures pointlessly through the door in the general direction of the bank, just in case they save lost DSes and can see through walls.

MASON
Anyway, it's rather embarrassing actually. Did
any of the fellas here find a Nintendo DS...
in the men's room?

CUTE ANIMATOR GIRL
Oh...

OWNER
A Nintendo DS, you say?

MASON
Yeah. I might have left it there yesterday
after I... was in there.

OWNER
I'll just go ask around, if you can wait
a couple minutes.

MASON
Thank you.

Several awkward moments pass.

MASON
That's what I get, ya know? For stopping
there after work to wash my hands.
Not anything else of course, just to...
and ohp! Left it on the counter, ya know?

CUTE ANIMATOR GIRL
Right. That happens.

She at least appears to appreciate his lie and courteous attempt to sidestep the obvious.

MASON
Boy, it sure is nice in here. Nothing
like the bank! They took away our plants
to cut cut back on "useless spending."
So... No plants.

CUTE ANIMATOR GIRL
That's awful.

The owner comes back with a Cool Animator Dude with neck tattoos and several piercings. He holds up the DS and smiles.

COOL ANIMATOR DUDE
Did you lose a white one?

They all laugh because they actually know what a Nintendo DS is, and that it could have been another color if another person had lost their red, black, or any variety of Jolly Rancher-colored DS in the same bathroom, and it is good. Mason keeps his tears in check.

MASON
Wow. Thank you. This is amazing.
Who would have thought there would be
good souls in a building that houses
a bank, ya know?

The animators laugh but trail off and look sorry for Mason.

MASON
Say, speaking of which, are you guys looking
to hire a writer?

All told, I was parted from my DS for roughly 20 hours, 15 hours of which were blissful ignorance to its true fate.

I promise, DS, to keep you away from toilet paper, dispensed or otherwise. Maybe I'll get a belt loop chain for you like the Cool Animator Dude's wallet chain. Welcome back, Precious, and please don't be mad.

Mas... Out and stylusing again