Megan Again: The Cane Conspiracy
By Megan Wirts
While I was out shopping yesterday, someone stole my cane out of my cart.A cane, mind you, that I use a daily due to my neurological disorder, Dystonia.
I was shocked and dismayed! What kind of lowlife steals a disabled woman’s cane right out of her cart?! One minute I’m having a great time picking out silky, shiny dresses with giant shoulder pads for my friend’s Halloween costume, (My group of friends and I was going to be The Golden Girls and yes, I will be...
...dressing up as Sophia, obviously.), and the next I’m searching every corner of a thrift store for my beloved pink cane who has come to known as Lucille.
I was devastated and distraught. I traced my steps over and again. Did I actually bring Lucille in to the store? Yes, I did, I remember putting her into my cart. I did switch carts at the beginning because the first one had a bum wheel. Did I leave the cane in there? No, because I remember taking it out and putting it in the new one. I also remember sliding it over as I filled the cart with leopard print tops and colorful pant suits. Did I take it out at some point and just hang it on a rack somewhere? No, I’m sure I didn’t, I had absolutely no reason to do that. The only thing that made sense was that some degenerate took it out of my cart when I wasn’t looking.
I felt betrayed and just utterly sickened by this. I love this particular thrift store! It’s one of my favorite places and now it felt dirty and tainted. I found a sales associate, told her that my cane was missing. andI gave her a description,
“It’s pink and fabulous with a curved handle and she goes by Lucille and……”
Ok, I didn’t tell her the name, I didn’t want her to think I was completely bonkers, I wanted her help.Then the store manager made an announcement overhead and I stood at the front of the store watching people to see if Lucille was in their carts while my friends looked in the fitting rooms and underneath the racks of clothing.
You may be thinking, “It’s just a cane, Megan, just get a new one.”
Logically, I know this, but Lucille is different. She’s special! Lucille has been with me for over a year now. She has been with me for doctor’s appointments and physical therapy. She was there when I performed at my first comedy show. We walked along the beaches of Lake Michigan together. This is my cane. Mine. Not some loser’s.The kind of person who thinks they can just take things from other people while they are sorting through gold lamé and grandma sweaters.
After what seemed like an eternity with Lucille nowhere to be found. I was certain that the thief had already left and there was nothing more we could do. With just a sliver of hope, I left my name and phone number, just in case it turned up. With my faith in the goodness of humanity waning and feeling dejected and broken hearted, my friends and I left the thrift store and headed to the grocery store.
Without Lucille to lean on, I needed to use the arm of a friend to get from the parking lot to the doors. When we entered through the automatic doors, I scanned the area for a scooter to ride while I did my shopping. I didn’t see any. My friend walked to the other side of the store and also came up empty handed. I asked the greeter and she said there were three sitting out in the parking lot, but they were wet and she wasn’t about to go out and get one for me or dry it off.Well, whose job is it!?! I was not feeling the love.
Without a scooter to ride around the store, I was in for a long shopping trip. I have difficulty walking and get dizzy very easily, my muscles spasm, my head wobbles and the pain and exhaustion take over quickly. With my good friend by my side I stood in the middle of the produce section and just started sobbing. I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself. My cane was stolen and there weren’t any scooters and I needed groceries and I was tired and in pain and I just wanted to go home, curl up in a ball and cry for the rest of this horrible gloomy day!
Just as she was stretching out her arms to console me and tell me everything was going to be okay, my phone rang, it was an unknown number. Could it be?!? No, it couldn’t. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, it was probably a bill collector, the IRS or political robo call (Eew!).
With a tearful and shaky voice, I answered the phone. Lo and behold, the girl on the other end was the manager at the thrift store telling me Lucille had been recovered!
I was elated! My mood was instantly lifted and I went from feeling melancholy and forlorn to having a smile on my face once again. I was still exhausted and in pain and I still needed to finish my grocery shopping scooter-less, but I was no longer feeling as if the universe was against me that day.
My friends and I split up, tackled my grocery list together then headed back to the thrift store to collect Lucille. As I hobbled through the door, the cashiers recognized me and called their manager to the front. She walked towards me with a smile on her face and my beautiful, pink and glorious Lucille in her hands.
She told me that a cashier had “found” it and would not elaborate even when I prodded for more information. She just smiled and again said “a cashier found it”, with emphasis on the “found”, if you know what I mean.
Which leads me to believe that the wonderful employees at the thrift store saw Lucille in the hands of some creep and an epic battle ensued with the good guys coming out on top and Lucille finding her way back to where she belongs, with me.
I’m so happy that we were reunited, but I am still pretty angry that this happened and I wish I knew just what was said or how Lucille was “recovered”. How low and sad do you have to be to steal from a person? Let alone steal a cane from a disabled woman! I mean, we were at a thrift store, you can buy cane for $2.99!
Apparently, Lucille is just that fabulous and they wanted her or they just wanted the thrill of the steal. I’m really not about to try to get into the mind of someone that would do such a disgraceful thing.
I’m just glad that day is over and from now on I won’t be turning my back on my cart ever again.
Or Lucille either, for that matter.
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