I had a bad day yesterday. It was bad until about 7.30pm when I got a phone call...or I should say that my roommate Dan got a phone call...that made it pretty darn awesome.
It was just kind of a blah day...I had some time that ended up getting wasted, I was really tired, too many annoyingly sized gaps in the timetable. And then I lost my purse. I realised that it was missing somewhere along my subway journey but had no clue how long ago or where I had misplaced it. Facepalm. Eejit. After freaking out I raced home to cancel cards etc, resigned to the inconvenience but aware that it was my own silly fault. So a pretty melancholy evening, until Dan came out of his room on the phone, and asked me 'do you want to talk to the guy who has your wallet?'
And yes I did, very much! As luck would have it, I'd left a business card of Dan's in there which has his number on the back. So this conscientious person had (in addition to looking me up and calling a gym I also had a card from, I later learned) had tried the number on the off chance that Daniel W Piccoli was someone I knew. I talked to him for a few minutes, thanking him effusively, and we arranged to meet at Indian Road Cafe on 218th st at the very top of Manhattan, near his home.
My purse hero is a gentleman of mature years who works as a freelance theatrical photographer, mostly shooting for the Metropolitan Opera and the like. So we had a certain amount of crossover in our worlds. He was a kind and fascinating man and I enjoyed spending an hour discussing over coffee the ways in which the theatre world has changed since he began photography, the state of Manhattan property values, smartphones and tap dance.
I lost my wallet, which sucked and was terrible and stupid on my part. But from it came this great story and a new friendly acquaintance. For a minute there I thought Madame Universe and her co-conspirator Dame New York had me, but it turns out they were just sending me on a mini life detour for no real reason other than for the experience. Cheers lasses.