Handing things in
This morning I found a lost Co-op Home Delivery card in a park, with no name on. I have no idea what powers possession of this card bestows upon its rightful bearer. Quite probably it is a worthless thing, either something the owner will never miss, or something that can be replaced without any angst. But perhaps it is a mighty talisman. Perhaps the owner has a houseful of visitors and has ordered a lavish banquet to be delivered, but the delivery driver will refuse to hand it over unless the card is shown at the door and the correct pass phrase given, and then everyone will starve.
I also have no idea is possession of the card will bestow any powers upon an unrightful owner. Very likely none, but who knows? For all I know, these things might have a street value nigh unto gold dust, and be traded by gangsters in smoky dens, as they trade Evil Ellipses over dishonest poker games.
Nobody possible owner was in sight, so I decided it was probably better to ensure that the card went somewhere safe, just in case. A branch of the Co-op was a few hundred yards away, so I went there and handed it in. This seemed to me to be a reasonable course of action. When people lose their library cards, they often come to the library in case someone's found it and handed it in to the institution named upon it, so it seemed to me a reasonable assumption that the bereft owner might assume something similar. I also thought it possible that somebody in a back office of the shop might be able to look at their records and locate said rightful owner and contact them.
However, the staff in the shop reacted as if I was completely and utterly crazy, and my attempt to hand the card in was treated as if it was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened in their working lives, ever.
As I resumed my journey across the park, I saw a well-dressed, sophisticated-looking young lady poking around in the grass near where I'd found the card. "You're not looking for a Co-op card?" I asked. "No," she said, also looking at me as if I was crazy. "I'm collecting autumn leaves."
So I proceeded to the library, and went on to lead a small group of intrepid pensioners out to feed the ducks in torrential rain. At least nobody we met seemed to think there was anything crazy about that.
I also have no idea is possession of the card will bestow any powers upon an unrightful owner. Very likely none, but who knows? For all I know, these things might have a street value nigh unto gold dust, and be traded by gangsters in smoky dens, as they trade Evil Ellipses over dishonest poker games.
Nobody possible owner was in sight, so I decided it was probably better to ensure that the card went somewhere safe, just in case. A branch of the Co-op was a few hundred yards away, so I went there and handed it in. This seemed to me to be a reasonable course of action. When people lose their library cards, they often come to the library in case someone's found it and handed it in to the institution named upon it, so it seemed to me a reasonable assumption that the bereft owner might assume something similar. I also thought it possible that somebody in a back office of the shop might be able to look at their records and locate said rightful owner and contact them.
However, the staff in the shop reacted as if I was completely and utterly crazy, and my attempt to hand the card in was treated as if it was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened in their working lives, ever.
As I resumed my journey across the park, I saw a well-dressed, sophisticated-looking young lady poking around in the grass near where I'd found the card. "You're not looking for a Co-op card?" I asked. "No," she said, also looking at me as if I was crazy. "I'm collecting autumn leaves."
So I proceeded to the library, and went on to lead a small group of intrepid pensioners out to feed the ducks in torrential rain. At least nobody we met seemed to think there was anything crazy about that.