It was a clear night - but it was late - almost midnight. “Midnight seems later now than it did when I was in college,” I thought.

I was walking home from the movie theatre. (World War Z). I crossed the bridge and a guy with pointy hair and a black goatee asked me for the time. While I looked at my watch, he grabbed me and started mumbling.

“This guy is drunk,” I thought. I jammed an elbow into his gut. He gasped and let go. I shook my shoulders, straightened my back and continued on my way. “I guess I showed him,” I thought as I got to the crosswalk. Then I realized that my wallet had been lifted. I turned around. The pointy haired, goatee-wearing cretin who had been stumbling a few minutes ago was almost out of sight - running: neither drunk nor stumbling.

The wallet was new - I had bought it during a visit to Zürich with Nazy. I liked it so much that I bought a matching briefcase in Mendriso’s outlet malls. The wallet was slim and “therefore easy to pick from a back pants pocket,” I thought.

It was also slim because it was almost devoid of money. I had a lot of change in my pockets, but little folding money in my bill(less)fold. [It was, therefore a prime candidate for a late night swim in Lake Geneva.] But it had two debit cards, two drivers licenses, my work permit, a few credit cards and the receipt for my dry cleaning. I was facing an administrative mess.

I immediately called Nazy - looking for sympathy and help.

“I told you not to carry that wallet in your back pocket,” she ‘consoled’. But she also called the various banking companies and cancelled everything. I was left moneyless and because it was a weekend, I couldn’t even go to the bank for additional funds. Luckily I had about 25 Francs in change and a load of fresh groceries.

“Groceries?” Nazy asked the next day.

“Of course. I went to the market. I have lemons, cherries, grapes and blueberries.”

“Wow. Anything green?”

I replied quickly: “Naturally. A lime.” “Lifesaver,” I thought.

i also had a day pass on the tram that was good until 2:00PM on Sunday. “But I don’t have any batteries,” I thought when the mouse died. Unenamored by a touchpad, I gave up and went for a walk. (I took tram 12 to the end realized that my pass had expired and walked back.) It was a sunny and hot day. As I strolled, I thought of other robberies in other venues.

Flashback: Amsterdam 1992

I was absentmindedly walking through the Dam Square when someone grabbed me from behind. I turned around and saw: “A derelict,” I thought. “What do you want?” I asked.

“20 Guilders,” he responded. “You knocked over my drugs.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell him it’s for his own good,” I thought. “Hmm,” I replied as I turned my back to look into my wallet. “Drat!” I thought. “Do you have change for a fifty?” I asked over my shoulder.

End Flashback

Later, Darius called to see: “... if you’re alright, Dad.”

“Alright? Yes. Happy? No. I’ll have to go to at least three different agencies to report the theft and, hopefully, retrieve my residency permit.”

“That’s what happens when you live in a lawless and dangerous city, Dad.”

“You are the one who lives in a lawless and dangerous city, Darius.” I replied quickly.

“Au contraire,,”

“Show-off!”

“ you had something stolen in Zürich and Geneva, Dad. There is no petty crime in Beirut. I have no worries.”

“I know. Why steal someone’s wallet when you can blow up their car?”

“I walk everywhere in Beirut. No ever bothered me. No worries.”

“Akuna Matata! I do remember that we walked to your house from the Christian sector, through the Druse area, across the green line (Nazy was happy) into the Sunni district and on to the Shia enclave,” I replied - recalling one of our visits to Beirut.

“And it was late at night.”

“It was very late. You said it would take 15 minutes. It took an hour.”

“Mom wanted to walk.”

The next day I had to visit Lost and Found, the Police Station and the Immigration Office. Fortuitously, the Lost and Found was on the same street as my apartment.
“Yes, Mr. Dan, your wallet is lost but not found. I am so sorry. You must go to the police,” the clerk explained. “You need a report to get your residency card replaced.” He directed me to a nearby police station.

I began predictably: “Do you speak English?” I asked. Predictably and politely.

“Parlez-vous français?” the policeman replied.

“English.”

“Espagnol?”

“English.”

“Italien?”

“Tout ce qu'il dit est: Anglais,” The policeman muttered to a colleague.

“I said ‘English’.” I interjected. “Not Anglais.” He turned to me and said: “Non!”

“I think that means ‘No’,” I thought. My supposition was confirmed when he turned his back and walked away. I decided to find another police station.

I got the requisite police report the next day and prepared to visit immigration. l was halfway to the tram stop before realizing that I didn’t have my mobile phone. I walked back. I was halfway to the tram stop (again) when I realized that I had forgotten the letter from the police. I walked back. When I finally go to immigration office, I was told:

“You cannot get a replacement in Geneva. You must go to Zürich.”

I sighed and headed to the office. I was almost there when I realized that I had forgotten the entry card. I walked back to the apartment to get it.

At the office, I brandished my card - only to discover that I had brought the ‘smart card’ that started the washing machine in the apartment. (The card was ‘smart’, but it wasn’t clear that I shared that trait.) Moreover, I had left my phone in the apartment. Again.

“This may not be an auspicious day to call Zürich Immigration,” I thought. Phoneless.

So.. will I succeed? Can I get the forms necessary to leave the country. Find out in next week’s edition of The Weekly Letter. (Ever the optimist, I expect to know by then.)