Small Town

Yesterday, I had the privilege of being on the receiving end of a random act of kindness. It is absolutely wonderful when that happens. Although I've been fortunate enough to experience this kind of a thing before (here's the story of one of my favorite instances), each time a stranger goes out of their way to do something kind, it shocks me. It was especially cool this time because it happened in a big place like the city of Chicago, where people (like myself) tend to expect it the least. 

This weekend, one of my favorites, Ashley Wisz, came to visit me (more on that in an upcoming post) and I took her around my neighborhood and favorite places to show her a little bit of my life in the city. This, of course, includes Simone's, my favorite bar. Ashley is too nice for her own good and treated me to my drink and would not take no for an answer. I should invite friends like her over more often. But then, that meant that I didn't have to check my wallet for the rest of the night. This means that my purse stayed on the bench for the duration of my meal. And this also means, of course, that when I left the bar, I was so happy and thankful for Ashley's generosity that I left my purse right there where I set it down in the first place. 

Bad move, Anna. The prognosis on leaving a purse behind anywhere in public is not a good one. If I left my purse out in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin, I wouldn't be too hopeful about getting it back. Chicago, I thought, must be hopeless. Who knows who's walking past that bench? I figured it was a goner. 

On Sunday morning, I was rushing around looking for my purse so I could drive us to church. Alas, I figured it out. Crap. I'm an idiot. That thing is never to be found again. 

So we continued on to church and went about our morning, waiting until Simone's opened so I could give them a call. I'll admit to you readers (this is not a proud moment) that instead of confessing my sins during the silent prayer, I was asking God to PLEASE let that brown purse and all of its contents to be safely nestled behind the bar on the corner of Morgan and 18th. I know, not cool. All I could think about was calling my parents to tell them about my stupidity as I asked for what the next logical steps were to reclaiming my life. I was facing identity theft, a trip to the DMV for a new license, new credit cards, and, of course, and maybe most painful of all, a long, long sermon from my father about the importance of situational awareness. This is what was on my mind at church.

But then - as you've probably already figured out by now - I made the call and found to my delight that I did not have to face any of that at all. "Yes, we are so happy to tell you that we have your purse for you!" said the voice on the other end of the phone. I stopped by Simone's on my way home from church, ran inside, thanked the lady profusely, and promised my undying loyalty and support of her local business (pretty sure she doesn't own the place and that she is just a bartender, but hey...I was excited) for as long as I live. Every last dollar, card, and check was still in my wallet. It was a great moment in humanity. 

I guess stuff like this happens all the time. People really do help other people out. Just because it's a big city doesn't mean that Chicago is an evil place. I'm starting to realize the great thing about this city is that Chicago is just a very, very, large small town. If I can help someone else feel like they're on main street just a little bit like that bartender did for me, I think that would be a great thing.