I lost my wallet, once. I left it in the stall of the girls’ bathroom on the 3rd floor of the Humanities building, and I didn’t realize it until two classes later. By the time I ran back to the bathroom, it was gone. I was petrified.<\/p>\n
Not only did the wallet contain all my credit cards and identification, but it also carried $200, which is $180 more than I ever had in my possession at one time. I’d slipped two crisp $100 bills in the back compartment, intending to deposit them later that afternoon for my mom. How was I going to explain to her that I’d carelessly lost her money?<\/p>\n
Before I mustered up the courage to do so, I got a phone call.<\/p>\n
“Is Christine Castro in?”
\n“This is she,” I said.
\n“I have your wallet.”
\n“Oh my gosh, you do?”<\/p>\n
We planned to meet the next day.<\/p>\n
When we met, I thanked her over and over again. I felt so elated I was practically spastic, but she just sounded blase.<\/p>\n
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee at least?” I asked.
\n“Nah,” she smiled, “I’ve gotta get to my next class.” Then, she was gone.<\/p>\n
I took a peek into the secret slot and the $200 was there, folded in half, just as I’d left it. I couldn’t believe it.<\/p>\n