LAW & ORDER: Lost & Found Unit

Detectives of Law & Order, listen up! I need to hire you, ASAP, to search my apartment. Not for clues or incriminating evidence, although that depends on how you define “incriminating,”but to find all the things Missing In Inaction (MII) that I will never see again—unless you help.

Think about it, folks. On L&O, they find everything! When they search an apartment for evidence—a ticket to Tahiti or a gun, smoking or otherwise—they find the damn thing in mere moments. “What do we have here, Lenny? Looks like the professor is planning a little sabbatical.”

Or, the exact opposite happens: they don’t find what they’re looking for—and are absolutely sure it isn’t there. “The place is clean, Elliott. Let’s check the car.”

I, on the other hand, lose things for hours, days, years, decades, and in a few sad cases, forever. I know only too well that poignant phrase, It’s in here someplace.

The Missing In Inaction items here are not tickets to Tahiti (I should live so long) or guns (I have no weapons except for cooking knives, which are rarely sharpened). But some of them are no smaller than a gun, so the cops should have no trouble succeeding where I have failed. Hey, Logan, have you seen my travel iron, last used in 1996? (Mr. Big can toss my crib any day!) And while you’re at it, the travel alarm clock, which probably went missing about the same time.

How about the tape measure that is “always” in the hall closet, except today. Or the one remaining hot plate that isn’t cracked? The heating pad? The photo from the Millenium party that suddenly went MII ten years later?

And the misses just keep on coming . . .

Where’s the remote? My nail file? My keys? Yes, these items are small, but these guys find hairs and hairpins (DNA! DNA!).So how about the heart-shaped bookmark from Tiffany’s?  And the robin’s egg blue pen. The gold and green eye shadow I used this New Year’s Eve? I really liked that.

Okay, someone may have taken the bookmarks and the pen (unlikely, but possible), but who would walk off with that ratty heating pad? They’re here someplace, dammit!

The detectives are also good with paperwork. A suspicious bill from Guns ‘R Us or a receipt from the One Night Stand Motel doesn’t stand a chance when they’re on the case. Okay, guys.  Go directly to the den. In the closet you’ll find the File Cabinet From Hell and in it, somewhere, are things I’d pay real money to find, including the list of restaurants in Paris for a friend who’s going there this week. (I smell overtime pay on this one.)

I’d like to keep the entire staff(s) of L&O on retainer:
We could call it The Lost & Found Unit and I could call night and day for emergencies. Like losing the envelope I just had in my hands (IN MY HANDS!) five minutes ago (FIVE MINUTES AGO!) I’ve searched all over. Retraced my steps. To the kitchen. The bathroom. The closet where I was foraging around for gum, which I also didn’t find. The stack of newspaper. My purse, where it had been earlier.

I can’t find an envelope I had five minutes ago, but they find evidence which may or may not exist and if it does, could be anywhere in the universe. I realize there’s a difference between Life and TV, but this is ridiculous. I just know that Vincent D’Onofrio could tilt his head the way he does (that man must require serious chiropractic care) and tell me where  — and why!  — I lost the letter. He knows everything.

Maybe I should see a shrink: Am I losing all these things instead of my mind? Because I harbor hidden hostility to heating pads and hot plates? To create confusion so that I don’t have to think about real problems, such as why I watch all those episodes of Law and Order in the first place? Is there a void in my life that I am trying to fill with reruns? Hell. Where is Doctor Wong when you need him.

It must have something to do with sex. What am I searching  for that’s lost? My youth? My virginity? Okay, that’s a stretch, but I just know that Olivia would understand.

I finally found the envelope. It was buried in the bedclothes. See? I told you it had sexual undertones.

H’mm. What if . . .. I became a suspect in a crime. Would they let me watch while the cops searched my apartment? Would they find the hairbrush? The iridescent eye shadow? Would they get cranky if I just mentioned the travel iron?

Look on the bright side; if all these things are in my apartment, they’re not truly lost, only misplaced. Suppose I devoted a day, or two, or however long it took, to sifting through all my stuff. Would I find anything interesting? Incriminating? Things I forgot I had. Would I get all nostalgic and start Googling people I’ve lost track of. You lose people, too, although seldom without a trace. Maybe Anthony LaPaglia could help. Love his face.

And maybe, just maybe, I would actually throw away some junk like I did when the kitchen was remodeled. I hardly ever lose anything in there anymore (except the knife sharpener — and the hot plate).  Could this level of organization coexist peacefully in the entire apartment? Would I find the tape measure? The heart-shaped bookmark?

And what would I do with all the time I now spend looking for things? Would I write more? Would people laugh? Is that a good thing? Frankly, detectives, I don’t have a clue.

For the original version of this post, check out:
I’VE LOST IT! AKA: Law & Disorder