Bloody Crooks!

“Yeah, I left my wallet in El Segundo”
“Left my wallet in El Segundo”
“Left my wallet in El Segundo”
“I gotta get, I got-got ta get it”

Well, my recent wallet-losing experience last week wasn’t quite like that. In fact it was very boring except for the part where I practically wanted to stab someone after retrieving it from the pub where I thought I had left it in the night before. I realized that the “finder’s fee” of my £20 ($40 USD) was no longer in the wallet. Then, a few days later after my computer crashed to hell, I remembered that I also had a $100 Benie-Frank (£50) inside one of the flaps, hidden behind my ID. Yep, that too was gone.

(This is a rare occurrence for me to misplace either my wallet or my keys, so I’m highly pissed about the issue. In general I think it just fell out of my pants pocket while sitting down in the back of the pub.)

Now, no doubt, I’m grateful to have my wallet back. God only knows the level of pain & suffering that would have surely befell upon me, as a foreigner no less, to replace the items inside like my driver’s license and banking cards. So in a sense, if it only cost me £70 pounds to get it all back and avoid the potential hassles. So, then it was worth the “finder’s fee” in the end, right?

Well, for some reason, no matter how I try to spin a positive vibe on this I can’t help but feel real pissed off that the money wasn’t in the wallet. Mind you, I’m not surprised by it, but I’m a bit disappointed honestly. Partly because I’m a cash strapped student I guess I feel the pinch more. But also because I feel people are just fucking shitty bastards sometimes. I mean do you really have to “charge” the equivalent of $140 bucks to do what’s right and return the item to it’s rightful owner? Could you not see from the contents of the wallet that a) I’m a student and b) I’m not from the country and maybe infer from this that I really could use the money that’s in there?! Who knows, maybe the person that found the wallet needed it more than me, and if that’s so then god-bless he/she and let’s just move on.

But my gut instincts tells me otherwise. I can’t explain it, but I swear if I can confirm that it was any of the pub’s staff that jacked my money, I promise I’ll be writing another blog from the consulate’s office about how I got deported from the UK after kicking their ass up and down the block. It’s not just the inconvenience of it all that frustrated me but the general audacity to exact a ridiculous “finder’s fee” amount. I was relatively kool with the £20 note missing but I just snapped when I realized the $100 bill was missing as well.

For some reason it reminded me of that jackass-wench up at Windsor castle for snitching on me to a security guard because she felt some overwhelming need to exact “justice and righteousness” upon a tourist; scolding me for taking photos inside the castle as if I was robbing the place blind. NO! That’s not what I was doing, that’s what the British do! The proof is in history. Even in the history of the castle room were I took a couple of pictures for my own personal memory of my visit to the Queen’s weekend hangout spot. That very same room, not to mention the many others, that were littered with pilfered paraphernalia that clearly wasn’t given, purchased or otherwise legitimately acquired by the crown. The nerve of that woman to implicate me as some kind of thief — the irony I thought at the time. Well then, where was she and her self-righteous posturing when I lost my wallet??? Oh that’s right, it’s okay for the British to steal just not the other way around. Even the act of returning a lowely wallet is subject to ransom.

I tell ya, Ingland is a bitch.

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