Once during my career as a Pet Shop Boy (really, I was a boy who worked in a local pet shop), I lost the key to the cash register. I felt sick, not just because it was on an awesome Fender Stratocaster keychain. I know people lose things, but I had betrayed a trust.
I told my boss, who must have seen how bad I felt. His response: He put one arm around my neck, said "OK" and pretended to punch me in the stomach with the other arm.
He then told me it was OK, blah, blah, blah.
Now, close to 30 years later, I feel the same way for losing a remote control to a door and my key card. Worse, their lose was a result of my bad wheelchair driving and the "Unsafe at any speed" issue I had recently pointed out.
I was trying to find the elevator that had binged, so I was driving around with my eyes on the elevator lights when BAM. I hit a wall.
I suspect my stuff fell off my lap then, but I did not notice and it wasn't there when I returned. But I re-walked my trip twice and didn't find it.
I hate being disabled.
The title is a real Pet Shop Boys' song.
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