I was leaving Seattle a couple of weekends ago and as I go through security I realized that I had left something. Yes, indeed I left it at the hotel. You know those times when you feel as if you've left your bag or wallet in some restaurant ... that heart stopping sinking feeling. Yes, I had one of those moments. Except usually when I have one of those moments, I realise that I've just placed my phone in another pocket, or my wallet is in my jacket instead, or that on this rare occasion I have left home without my bag. My heart continues to beat, and life goes on.

This wasn't one of those moments. This heart stopping moment was quickly followed by a washed out sepia mental image in my head of exactly where I had left it: draped over the back of a chair in my hotel room.

You see, it would normally be no big deal leaving an article of clothing. Brad has left many an article of clothing at hotels. You can probably even count the number of vacations we've had by the conspicuous absence of a favourite shirt in his closet. Not that it would put a dent in the amount of clothes in his closet. His wardrobe is very much like the mythical Hydra - that monster from Greek mythology who had nine heads and when one was cut two would grow in its place. Unlike the mythical Hydra, this monster's replacement are more than two items of what he would leave at the hotel. And it wouldn't be a for like replacement: a pair of shoes, a jacket and a couple of shirts for his one blue shirt - even if he'd find that same shirt at a later visit to the hotel some time later. In any case, while the Hydra might be this ugly reptilian like monster, he'd always manage to pick out the best stuff. Some of the best clothes I have now were picked out by him.

Yet my wardrobe still manages to leak like a sieve and leaving Seattle would be no exception.

While you can time the number of trips by Brad's lost articles, with me, you can time it based on jackets! What started as a utilitarian purchase during one trip abroad has turned into an almost subconscious obsession. I say subconscious because I haven't quite determined if my brain decides to fool me into being unprepared for the weather at my destination.

The jacket that I left in Seattle I picked up in Reykjavik, Iceland.

Technically I was still in Seattle, even if it was at the airport and I was on my way out. I could just as easily jettisoned the object, declared a new reason to return to Iceland and purchased a jacket there. It would be easy to say as a reason that it was the cost of the jacket or the great deal I got. You see, when I bought this jacket at $360US in Iceland their economy was tanking (and so was ours for that matter). Speed of light and credit didn't save that one transaction to turn into a $175US purchase. Going to 66 Degrees North's website still has the same jacket listed in their NYC store for that price.

No, that would be too easy to use as an excuse. So I *could* have just jettisoned the jacket if that were the only reason. But I am much like those weirdo packrats you read about on the news, never throwing away anything, having twenty million pets, and everything having some strange OCD sentimental value.

I called the hotel. After a grueling three phone calls with housekeeping I was able to ascertain that they indeed find the jacket and that they would be mailing it to me. I say grueling because just to get the address across was like an exercise in futile elocution lessons combined with facial calisthenics.

"No, no, eight, eight, eeeeeiiiighhht...
what?
yes, thirty three...
three, three...
No, no, not 88833, eight hundred thirty three...
Not Brad, that was reservation name, this is going to be mailed to me.
OK, EEEEEE emmmmmm..."

It would be mailed out and should get there by Thursday I was told. I call back in the middle of the week to find out where the package is...

"Oh, yeah, I remember you, we mailed it out last Friday"

I hadn't checked out until Monday. Unless there's some weird time zone differential in that block of Seattle...

"OK, let me check"
Elevator music...
"You're Bradley, um, E...?"
No you primordial sludge I thought we covered this before! But after all they still had my jacket so I had to be 'super nice' to them.
"Oh, OK, what's the name then, I'll write it on the box. and the address is 80033 Walnut..."
OMG, I was about to go play in some traffic, that would at least have been mildly less stressful.
"All the packages go out on Friday, yeah, they'll go out and you should get it within a couple of days then."

A week later, still no package. I dread having to have to call again. I can feel my patience waning just thinking about it. And worst of all, I have to be super nice. They have the upper hand. They have something I want. Suffice it to say that the fifth conversation with the guy was much less stressful. I didn't have to convey any information. Except...

"80033 to a Brad..."
OMG the man sent it to the wrong address.
"Well, this is just what's on my sheet, yeah, it was right on the box tho'"

I am never going to get my jacket back.

And then the cold rain sets in... that cold chilling rain like in ... ICELAND! And guess what I don't have... my Iceland jacket. It finally arrived though today... just in time for Day Two of cold chilling rain and urban strolls.