Reinventing Mike Lake Read Online Free PDF

usually secure in my left front pocket.  Not this time.  After a frantic look inside the car for close to 20 minutes I realized I had lost it.  I had a “last time you saw it moment” and was back in line at the GA Pig Shack.  I may have left it on the counter, but I hadn’t pulled that move off in years, with the last time featuring me being drunk at a bar in college.  That time I had maybe a few dollars in it, this time I had a few hundred dollars, plus credit cards and my social security card, but – most importantly – a picture of my wife and I from our first year in college.  I found the number to the “Baby Pig” after an internet search on my phone.
                  It was already a few minutes after seven, and they were only open to eight, so I knew I would have to hurry if I did indeed leave my wallet there.  A woman who answered the phone named Karen said she hadn’t seen a wallet, but remembered me running for my car from the field when it started pouring.  I took this as she remembered making fun of me when it started pouring, but it all but came back to me that the wallet probably popped out when I was running through the field.  I didn’t make my obligatory wallet check at that point because I was just so happy to be back in the car and promptly dozed off.
                  When I got back to the restaurant a few minutes after closing time, it was raining again, but not nearly as bad.  I was happy to see that a few customers were still in the restaurant when I entered, so I didn’t have a guilty feeling that they had waited for me to come back, though I’m not entirely sure they would have waited for me.
                  A few of the employees were sitting at one of the indoor picnic tables, and eye-balled me inquisitively as I walked through the door.  It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was dripping wet, and was weary from a day of driving and thinking my wallet, and more importantly my picture with my wife, was missing.
                  “Is Karen here?”  I asked.
                  “Who’s asking?” asked one of the women sitting down, in a gruffer tone than I was expecting.
                  “Um, well” I stuttered slightly off put, “I lost my wallet…”
                  “Ohhhh,” said the woman who just asked me who’s asking.  “I’m Karen, I got your wallet right here.”
                  Karen got up and went to the other side of the counter and handed me my drenched wallet, minus three hundred dollars, but credit cards, social security card, and thankfully the picture of my wife and I, still intact.  “Someone found it in the field and brought it inside not long after you called.”
                  That “someone” I thought was most likely “Karen” but if you got a look at some of the men and woman she was sitting with at that table behind me, all still staring at me, you probably wouldn’t have questioned the missing money either.  I also remember having the thought that many of these employees wield cleavers for a living, so I quickly thanked her, and walked back outside, to freedom.
                  Later on in the trip, when I wasn’t so upset about losing the money, realizing it was my own stupidity, I began to appreciate the culture of that part of the country.  In the north, and where I live in Virginia is absolutely considered the north when you are in Georgia, everyone in the building would have pointed to “Karen” when I asked where she was.  I don’t think that the people revealing who “Karen” was would do it with bad intentions, but when you find yourself in the position of “Karen” and some unsavory looking character was looking for you, you certainly hope everyone wouldn’t point you out.  In the south, there is a sense of privacy, and it seems the residents there, at least the ones that work in the GA Pig