Have you ever lost a backpack? More specifically, have you ever left someone else’s backpack on the Metro train, walked through the turnstiles, scooted up the escalator, and breathed the night air only to realize that your back feels a little bit light. The kind of light where something was there before and now it isn’t.

But I’m lying. I didn’t even realize that I had left the bag until this other someone (my girlfriend) turned to me and said, “MY BAG!?!” In other words, it wasn’t until I saw her tear-streaked face that I realized that my back felt a little bit light.

Girlfriend, “You Figure It Out.” She stomps away.
You know that cold feeling when you realize that you’ve left the stove on and you’re 10,000 miles away? Or that feeling when your computer crashes in the middle of a Very Important Paper and you can’t get it back? Well, guess what—this feeling was worse.

Because it was someone else’s bag.

Because of me, my girlfriend’s school backpack was riding its merry way on an unidentified train going towards either New Carollton or Largo Town Center. I wonder if it is an aisle camper or if it’s facing down an angryblackwoman glareitus.

The details of the bag were that it is yellow (not quite yellow but more of a goldenrod with touches of honey) and wrapped with deep black and gray trim. It contained Important Girlfriend Stuff like papers, books, and other psychological paraphernalia (such as a WISC test booklet) from her graduate school program. Yes, I lost a graduate student’s bookbag, ok? I realize how horrifying it is to those of you who are graduate students.

I’m watching my girlfriend’s departing back (along with my best friend—he was consoling her) and frantically trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I did the only thing I could think of: Run.

I ran down the escalator and approached the overlord of the Metro system: The Station Manager. But this time I am not only honored by his sullen presence, but two WMATA employees are also there. They loll about, waiting for something.

I do the quintessential Deaf search-and-find-the-most-friendly-face scanning trick. I talk to one of the WMATA employees; he seemed the friendliest. And he was. He helps me identify that the train we were on was the Blue Line, going towards Largo. I explain that my bag (to keep it simple - think I want WMATA employees laughing at me? You…you lost a graduate student’s bag? You idiot. No thanks) was left on the train. The front car. Yes. The front caaar. The station manager mumbles something to me and spends some time on the phone. I look at him. He mumbles. I look. The WMATA employee writes something down for me. I read it. It says, “Wait for 15 minutes and check back.”

So I sit down near the station manager’s hut. Feeling like a hobo, I scowl at the passersby. Every minute that passes, I feel more and more panic. I tell myself, “It will be ok. You’re lucky, remember? Think positive and it will happen. Think positive. You’ll never find her bag. It’s being rifled through by a fatty twoseater who needs a WISC test booklet.”

Fifteen minutes later, I get up to see where the sullen station manager was in his exhaustive search for his phantom itch (believe me he looked everywhere) and my girlfriend’s bag. Unfortunately, by this time the friendly WMATA employees had left and abandoned me to the station manager’s tender mercies. He picks up a phone that looks like it was made in 1920 and calls someone. He talks with the person. I stare. He talks. He scratches. Talks. I fidget.

I’m staring at his back when he suddenly jumps a little. You know, that little jump when you know someone has got good news. Deaf people know it worldwide as The Jump of Good News. Careful people-watchers know this too, not only Deaf people. Sorry.

Anyway. He tells me they Found the Bag at the Largo station as the train pulled in. I ask, “So I’ll drive there and get it?” He says, “NO.” I say, “So I’ll drive and get it?” He says, “NO. TAKE THE TRAIN.” I say, “The train?” He says, “Take THAT TRAIN. HURRY HURRY.”

He was referring to the train that had just pulled up. Its doors were open. I was 1,000,000 feet away. Its doors were open. That means its doors were going to close mighty soon. He points.

Ok. I run as fast as I can down the escalator and squeeze in the train just as the doors close.

Now, I don’t know if any of DeafDC.com readers travel via Metro to Largo Town Center but let me tell you that its bloody far away from Capitol Hill. Don’t let that sly Metro map fool you. It’s a solid 20, 30 minute train ride. I arrive in Largo Town Center (oo nice, a new station… how shiny) and walk to the Station Manager’s Hut. Inside, a very overweight black woman was sitting with her back to me.

I knock on the door and point to my girlfriend’s backpack which was on another chair inside the Hut. She turns slowly to face me and smiles ever so slightly. She points at the bag, and turns around again.

Oh, so, I’m supposed to enter the Hut? The Magical Station Manager’s Hut? Alright, I open the door and grab the bag. I ask her, “When’s the next train to DC?” She turns slowly back to face me and says, “15 minutes.” Fifteen minutes? I groan inwardly.

Forty-five minutes later, I walk in the door at home and start laughing and plop the bag on the bed. My girlfriend was laying down… and thankfully, she started laughing too.

Folks, don’t leave bags on the Metro. Your graduate student friends and girlfriends will thank you.