My current visit to South America just happened to coincide with an annual observance to honor departed loved ones, called the “Day of the Dead” (Dia de Los Muertos), which takes place on All Saints’ Day (Nov. 1) and All Souls’ Day (Nov. 2) throughout Latin American culture. Finding myself with unanticipated time on my hands until the resumption of normal business activities, I headed for the local gym, where the manager just let me in. As it was crowded, I grabbed an elliptical machine and looked for new exercises and routines to do, taking my inspiration from the number of athletic young men in superb condition who seemed to be pushing their strength to the limit. When I had reached the limits of my own endurance, which involved burning a total of 400 calories (or at least according to the machine), I headed across the street to a bakery and ordered some egg- baked dish (I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it looked interesting). When the lady behind the counter (in a full baker’s uniform, complete with hat and yellow rim) said it would be 60 pesos, I reached for my wallet, only to discover it wasn’t there.
Trying not to panic, I immediately ran back to the gym and retraced all of my steps, trying to be cool so as not to call attention to my status as a foreigner. I went to the manager and as best I could, explained that I had lost my wallet somewhere in the gym. But despite looking everywhere, I couldn’t find it. Now my head started racing regarding the contents of the wallet, and how I would manage expenses, hotel bills, etc. So I left the gym and thought perhaps I had left the wallet in my room so I raced back to my hotel, but no wallet there, either. I then proceeded back to the gym, getting angrier by the moment because I was now convinced that someone had actually lifted my wallet from my sweatshirt, which I had put on the ledge while availing myself of back packs and water bottles, and mentally zeroing in on the faces of those young athletes upon arriving, I told the manager in my broken Spanish that the wallet was there and he helped my look around. Again the gym was crowded so if it had fallen out of my sweatshirt there was no way it wouldn’t have been found by now. So I retraced all my steps, or so I thought, until I got to the bathroom where I had washed my hands and, guess what — there was my wallet on the floor with the U.S. dollars hanging out, completely untouched.
Immediately, my consternation and suspicion turned to amazement. With the gym this crowded, how was it possible for it to have sat there undisturbed for at least a half hour or 45 minutes? When I asked the manager, he said the young guys working out were probably afraid to touch it or even pick it up because they could be accused of stealing, so best just to leave it. In that moment, any preconceived notions I may have harbored based on typical stories ones hears about South America were turned on their ear. In fact, the experience was one that has had a rather profound effect on me, serving as a valuable lesson and pointed reminder to avoid prejudging and stereotyping people and situations. As a result, I have decided to give the money that was in my lost and found wallet to the homeless – and to return to that gym with a new sense of admiration for the strength of character also displayed by the young athletes I observed there.
