Based on a true story! Well...maybe inspired by a true story.

I'm glad that when I left my bag on the subway, it was a lot less hassle than what poor Scott had to go through.

---

Lost

Scott Rosseau took four steps away from the subway car - two steps after he heard its doors wheeze shut - before he realized his bag, a smallish blue sling bag containing essentially everything he needed to function in modern society, was still sitting on the seat where he'd put it down upon boarding at Eglinton Station. He spun, ran futilely back toward the train. As it pulled away, he caught a glance of his bag sitting on the seat. Alone. Betrayed.

His stomach gurgled as he told himself, "No. I did not just do that. It's simply not possible." He wanted to grab the person walking past him by the shoulders, shake them, and tell them how he'd been riding the subway by himself since he was eight years old. In all that time, he hadn't lost so much as a glove. He didn't even leave newspapers behind; he would take them with him when he exited the car. He was heading home after a job interview that had gone well, he thought. Maybe that's what had him so distracted.

He ran to a TTC employee standing nearby, holding a clipboard and explained the situation to him.

"Well, obviously we can't stop the train and take time to search it," he sounded genuinely sympathetic, but blase. "Your best bet is to ride up to Downsville and see if it turns up there. Or call lost and found tomorrow. Lost items get delivered and sorted after lunch."

Scott found the man's unconcerned attitude comforting. It wasn't that the man didn't give a shit. This kind of thing happened everyday. It would be fine. Downsville. At least Scott had had the accidental foresight to stuff his Metropass into his jacket pocket, instead of returning it to its rightful place inside his bag, in the little velcro-ed pocket in the front pouch.

He rode the train around to Downsville Station, hands folded on his lap, trying not to tremble. Adrenaline might be useful when you're being chased down by a bear or something, but not so much when the danger is that your wallet was being pawed through by some grubby homeless guy, or that a pack of teenagers was passing judgement on you based on the contents of your iPod. Thanks for nothing, endocrine system.

His bag wasn't at Downsville, so he sulked back to his apartment building and continued to sulk in the lobby, waiting for one of his roommates to return home and let him in. He passed the time by reading the discarded flyers. Rejects from peoples' mailboxes.

By the time Joel showed up, Scott had saved them nearly twenty dollars on their next grocery run. Joel showed virtually no interest in that, and instead lectured him on identity theft and credit ratings. When they got into the apartment, Scott called his credit card company and had a hold put on his card. He didn't cancel it outright because he was still optimistic his stuff would turn up; the TTC guy had been so unworried about it.

---

The next day, he rushed off to the lost articles office at Bay Station: his bag had been found and was waiting for him. On the way over, he stopped for coffee at a Starbucks. A latte bought with cash borrowed from Joel. He'd originally planned on getting it to go, but while waiting in line, a cute girl smiled at him and Scott decided to stick around to see if she would do it again. He took a table to the right of where she sat, strategically picked so that if she were to glance at him, it would have to be deliberate. Minutes after, she was joined by a friend and the two women had an animated conversation, learning forward, touching the other's arm, laughing. Not a glance spared for Scott, and a few days later he wouldn't even be able to remember what she looked like.

---

Scott looked at the TTC employee. The TTC employee, a middle-aged filipino woman, looked back. They each of them wondered what was afoot, wondered why the other was simply standing there, staring. Finally the woman, impatient to begin her coffee break, broke the stand-off.

"Take it. It's yours." She pulled the bag back a couple of centimeters and then thrust it toward Scott again.

It was an orange backpack, small and very dirty. It looked as though someone had been disgusted by the orange colour and spent a good amount of time trying to cover it up by stomping on it to grind dirt into it. The shoulder straps were frayed. It didn't in any way resemble Scott's bag, aside from it sharing the general category of bags.

"That isn't my bag."

"It's yours. Take it." She held it out again.

"It isn't mine. Mine is blue and doesn't look like a dog buried it."

The TTC woman heaved an annoyed sigh and checked her clipboard.

"Scott Rosseau?"

"Yes."

"This is your bag."

"It's not mine. I called this morning. A blue shoulder bag. The guy I talked to said it was here. He didn't mention a filthy orange thing."

The woman exhaled, halfway between a resigned sigh and exasperation. She put down the backpack, picked up a clipboard that was sitting on the counter, and ran a capped pen down a list of names. She paused, tapped the pen against the clipboard in a quick beat and exhaled once more.

"Your name is Scott Rosseau."

"Yes. I can't show you ID because it was in my bag. My blue bag."

"There are two Scott Rosseaus."

He looked around. "Where?"

She held the clipboard so that he could see it. Printed on the sheet was a list of names and descriptions of their lost property. He saw his name listed, and beside it a description of the orange bag. It read: Bag. Orange. Discoloured.

"But that's not my bag."

The woman pointed to a line near the top of the page. Again his name was listed and beside it: Shoulder bag. Blue. A blue line was drawn through it.

"Why is it crossed out?"

"Scott Rosseau picked up his bag, I guess."

"But I'm Scott Rosseau."

"The other Scott Rosseau."

"But it wasn't his bag. That," he pointed at the orange thing sitting limply on the floor, "must be."

"I'll talk to my supervisor."

---

Scott sat on a bench in Bay Station. A few trains came and went, people streamed by him. He was staring at the contents of the filthy orange bag that he'd carried out of Lost & Found. It wasn't his, but the TTC staff had insisted he take it with him. To their mind, each Scott Rosseau had received a bag; both names and both lost bags could be crossed off the list. That the Scott Rosseaus may have received the others' bag was a degree of nuance that couldn't be expressed in their filing system.

He laid the random assortment of items out on the bench. A small rusty hammer, a bag of salt and vinegar chips rolled up and held closed with an elastic band, a deck of tattered playing cards with Playboy Bunnies on the backsides, a wallet held together mostly by duct tape and a pair of underwear that he'd thrown into the garbage can as soon as he'd realized what he was holding. The wallet contained nothing except for a Blockbuster video card and three expired McDonalds coupons.

He stared at the things for a while, trying to figure out how they all fit together. How would an anthropologist interpret this find? What do they say about the individual and his culture? Scott decided he had no fucking clue, shoved the items back into the bag and then stuffed the bag into the garbage. He got up, walked over to the pay-phones and fished through the remains of the twenty dollars he borrowed from Joel for a quarter.

It took eight rings before his call was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Is this - is this Scott Rosseau?"

"Yes it is. What can I do for you?" The voice on the other end sounded perfectly normal, except that it was mixed with a slimy smacking noise. The other person - the other Scott Rosseau - was popping gum as he spoke.

"I think you accidentally grabbed my bag from the lost and found at the TTC this afternoon."

"No, I didn't."

"Are you sure? Because it's my cell phone that I called. That you answered." Scott thought he felt a headache coming on.

"Oh, yeah. What I meant was, I didn't accidentally take it. Like, it wasn't an accident."

"It wasn't?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Listen, is this going to take a while? Your phone's battery wasn't at full, and the charger wasn't in your bag."

Scott started to apologize but then stopped himself.

"But why did you take my bag?"

"Oh come on. You saw mine. It was a piece of shit. Filthy. When that lady held up your bag, I saw it and thought, 'That's a nice bag. That's a bag with possibilities. A future.'"

"But it's my bag."

"Was your bag. And anyway, my name's Scott Rosseau, too. You don't have a monopoly on it."

"This is nuts."

"Hey man, I've got a call on the other line. I gotta go. Oh, and you probably don't want to use that Blockbuster card, by the way. I rented an Xbox from them a while back and never returned it. Ciao."

"Wait!"

But the call was disconnected.

---

Scott sat on the bench a while longer. He'd wasted another quarter calling the police to report what had happened. After he'd finally got the duty constable to understand the situation, she very quickly decided it was a prank call.

"So someone with the same name has stolen your bag and won't give it back."

"Yes. The exact same name. Well, I don't know about our middle names."

"Sir, the caller I spoke to before you was a hysterical mother whose fifteen year-old daughter hasn't been home in two days. I've had three domestic abuse calls today already. Don't you have anything better to do with your time than waste mine?"

"But I - "

She hung up on him, too.

Scott stared at the pay phone for a moment, then picked up the handset and slammed it down again.

"You look a little lost."

He turned to see a man dressed in a black suit, white shirt and black tie. Scott guessed they were around the same age.

"Excuse me?"

"I overhead your phone call. I wasn't eavesdropping. I was just standing by, waiting for my train and heard you talking. And looking lost."

Scott took a slow breath and then responded, "I'm not lost. I know exactly where I am. I'm in Bay Station. In Toronto. Earth."

"I mean, lost in life. It sounds like you're looking for something. A new identity, a new direction in life."

Scott turned and walked towards the stairs.

"I have some pamphlets."

---

Scott spend the next day home in the apartment, googling for other Scott Rosseaus in Toronto. There were three besides him listed, and he called them all. None of them sounded like the guy he'd talked to previous day. He also drank a lot of beer.

The next morning, he was sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of Crap'n Crunch when Joel came in.

"Dude. Why aren't you at work?"

"Work?" Scott responded, "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you answer your phone? That place called the other day and said you got the job. They wanted you to start today. I told them to call your cell."

"My cell - I lost my cell with my bag. Fuck!"

Scott threw his spoon down; it bounced off the table and clattered to floor. He got up and ran past Joel to bathroom.

"Man, what is wrong with you?" Joel said as he raced by.

A quick shower later and Scott was out the door, running to the subway station. He'd hastily ironed a collared shirt and spent most of the ride downtown trying to rub out the crease he'd put the left breast. It was the tail end of rush hour, but there was a large space around him on the train. He was muttering to himself under his breath and no one wanted to get too close.

---

"I'm sorry, but there must be some kind of mistake."

He was in the lobby of the building where he'd interviewed a couple of days previously, and the group confronting him was growing. Aside from the receptionist he'd started dealing with, there was also a security guard and a woman from the HR department.

"There isn't a mistake. I'm Scott Rosseau. I interviewed here two days ago. They called yesterday to tell me I got the job." He pointed at the receptionist and continued, "You and I talked. You complimented me on my tie."

"You're not wearing a tie."

"It was on Tuesday."

The security guard took a step forward. "Sir, if you could please keep your voice down. This is a business."

"I talk to dozens of people every day," the receptionist added.

The woman from HR picked a clipboard up from the receptionist's desk. "According to the sign-in sheet, Scott Rosseau already showed up for work. He was here twenty minutes early. If you really were showing up for your first day, I'd expect you to do better than arriving almost an hour late."

Scott's hands had been on the back of his head and he clenched them in fists in his hair. "Can you talk to Mr. Peterson? He's the guy I interviewed with. I'm sure he can clear this up."

The HR woman rolled her eyes and said, "Mr. Peterson is a very busy man and he doesn't really go in for pranks."

"I'm not going to be the one to bother him with...this," said the receptionist. She folded her arms across her chest.

The three of them stared at Scott until his posture broke and his shoulders slumped forward. Seeing that, the scowl on the HR woman's face softened a bit and she said, "Well let me take a photocopy of your drivers license. That should straighten things out."

"I don't have it. I lost it. That other Scott Rosseau has it."

The security guard took a grip on Scott's elbow. "Sir, I think perhaps it's time you left."

Scott didn't resist at all as the guard led him out of the building.

---

"You know, you look kinda lost, kid."

Scott was sitting in a coffee shop. He'd ordered a cup of coffee and a muffin, leaving him with barely more than ten dollars of the money he'd borrowed from Joel. The muffin was untouched and the coffee was getting cold. He sat on a stool at the counter, head down.

"I'm not interested in your pamphlets."

"Pamphlets? I'm just wondering if you were going to finish that muffin."

Scott looked to his right and saw a man, older than he was, unshaven and dressed in shabby clothing. He slid the saucer the muffin sat on across the counter.

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver. I've got the worst hangover. That why you look like something the cat dragged home?

"Huh?"

"You hungover too?"

"No, someone stole my name."

"Stole your name? How does your name get stolen? Some guy just started using your name?"

"Well, it's his name, too. It's more like he's stealing my life."

"Oh that happened to me! In my case, they stole everything except my name."

Scott turned toward the man. "Really? Who stole it?"

"The government. They put a chip in my tooth, too. Bastards."

Scott sighed and turned back to staring at his coffee.

"Well thanks for the muffin."

"No problem. I hope you get the chip out."

The man got up to go. "Just need to figure out which tooth it is."

---

"This is completely insane!" Scott was at Bay Station again, yelling into the pay phone at Joel.

"Look, dude. I don't want to turn this into a thing. All I'm asking is that you stop by and leave your key with the caretaker. I've your stuff packed in boxes. He'll get them out of the storeroom when you come by."

"You can't just give away my room."

"Scott, man, you haven't had a job in - what? - two months? I can't afford to spot you another month's rent. And you've been acting weird lately. Totally erratic."

"My name's on the lease."

"Well that's the cool thing. With this other Scott Rosseau, we don't even have to redo the paperwork. He can just take over. The caretaker is totally cool with it."

Scott slammed down the phone and looked around. It was mid-afternoon and the station was fairly crowded. The beginnings of the afternoon rush. He turned around and around and then saw what he was looking for. A guy dressed for work, yakking on a cell phone, messenger bag sitting on the ground beside him. Scott strolled toward him and stood beside the guy until the next train pulled into the station. When the people started piling out, he grabbed the bag and ran up the stairs before the guy could react. A moment later he was out onto the street.

Hopefully the guy's wallet was in his bag. What was his name? Steve? Mark? Biff? Scott didn't much care. He could be a Biff. As he ran, he wondered what Biff did for a living and if he'd enjoy it. Or would he need to find something new.

8 responses to "Week #14 - Lost "

Ginny! wrote: Tuesday, 11 Mar 2008 01:12 Ack! Poor Scott. Heh, I think the humour worked this time. {Editrix steals the keyboard: Eglinton [the station closest to where you'll be staying in 2 weeks], and a bit of proofreading necessary.}

Erinn, destroyer of elder gods wrote: Tuesday, 11 Mar 2008 02:16 I guess the idea of my life being stolen genuinely scares me, because I didn't find this funny. Maybe I've just lost my sense of humour? The homeless man with the chip in his tooth made me giggle though. Kudos for that.

Karen wrote: Tuesday, 11 Mar 2008 02:46 Holy smokes, I loved that! Just a crazy series of unfortunate events, eh? But odd, very odd, and it's nice to know it's only BASED on a true story, ha ha ha.

merpy wrote: Tuesday, 11 Mar 2008 05:06 Scary, but awesome. I love the ending also.

Debs wrote: Tuesday, 11 Mar 2008 10:25 Hrm. I didn't find it funny. Makes me glad that your bag was returned safe and sound. I liked the pamphlets :) Editor Debs says that you imply that he needs his Metropass to get back in onto the subway to go to Davisville which isn't true if he's just steps away from the subway train. Also, Davisville is south of Eglinton so he'd need the southbond train, not the northbound.

Beast wrote: Tuesday, 11 Mar 2008 17:45 I will make sure my mother-in-law doesn't read this. That's why she wears her purse strap across her chest and has a personal sized shredder, so that this kinda thing doesn't happen to her. If you can think up this stuff so can the "crooks".

D.J. wrote: Tuesday, 25 Mar 2008 16:47 :D Does this mean you can write off any loss now from the time you were missing your bag?

Kim wrote: Thursday, 03 Apr 2008 21:25 This could turn into a really cool action movie as he races against time, assuming the new identity in order to reclaim his former one. I would love to see him really screw over that other Scott Rosseau! Yes, yes, I'm picturing chasing scenes...

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