Lost and Found: Part Three

(Writing 101, Day Sixteen: Serial Killer III
Today, imagine you work in a place where you manage lost or forgotten items. What might you find in the pile? For those participating in our serial challenge, reflect on the theme of “lost and found,” too.)

Go here for Part I and here for Part II, or this post won’t make a whole lot of sense 🙂

This has to be the absolute worst job I’ve ever had!  All day, every day, sorting out lost stuff, labeling it with time and date, who brought it in, where it was found, and trying to find room for it all.

You’d think people would come and pick up their stuff, wouldn’t you?  I mean, there’s a TON of money’s worth of junk just sitting here gathering dust.  What do people do?  Just go out and buy a replacement?  Boy.  When I was growing up, if you lost it you just got along without it.

“Maybe if you have to do without, you’ll be more careful next time.”  That statement may have made a lot of sense to my parents, but it just gave me a sinking sensation.  What if I lost my coat?  My boots, or gloves?  Winter was brutal where I grew up. Maybe just the threat of having to do without made me cautious, because I don’t remember losing any of those things.

But the stuff here at my job–good grief!  Eyeglasses, sunglasses, ear muffes, the hair doodads you just wouldn’t believe! Hats, scarves, gloves, purses, wallets–some with lots of money in them–tops and pants and skirts and leggings and shoes, slippers, boots,!  To say othing of electronics.  Radios, iPods, iPads, sometimes a laptop.  Like, how could anyone lose a laptop?  Really!  Jewelry by the gross. Lottery tickets. Store receipts,  Honestly, it’s just endless.

But there’s one thing that’s really a mystery. I can’t figure it out at all, and it’s creepy, too. There’s one room devoted completely to this stuff. They mystery is that it grows, then shrinks; growshrinkgrowshrinkgrowshrink ALL the livelong day!Sometimes the room is so full the stuff comes oozing out from under the door, no matter how I try to stop it. Then, all of a sudden, it just kind of gets sucked right back in and there’s nothing against the door any more.

What is it, you ask? Well, get ready to be completely grossed out. It’s fat. Great, huge, icky yellow gobs of fat!  I HATE having to take a new package of the stuff in there, and I usually wait until I can see that there’s nothing coming out from under the door.  Then, I open the door just wide enough to toss in the bundle, and I slam it as fast as I can before the stuff engulfs me and everything in its path.

Somebody loses a whole bunch of fat;  sooner or later, someone else finds it.  Gah.  Yech.

Personally, I’d rather sort unmatched socks!

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