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Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome shortens lives

October 11, 2013 - Paul Giannamore
I have discovered, admittedly through my test sample of one — me — the very thing that trims years from lives by it’s existence and recurrence.

It is Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome.

It can set in at any time but often is triggered by late arrivals home, early departures for work against tight deadlines, the switching of suits, purses, cars or patterns followed around the house.

It is not simply a disease of the aging mind, for my first encounter with Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome occurred in 1983, when, as a young man, I returned home from a date with the then-future BOSS, sat down in my mom’s recliner and promptly fell asleep. The next morning, before departing for work, I realized that my wallet was missing. At first, the retracing of last-night’s steps was calm, but the longer the wallet remains unfound, Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet syndrome increases its grip, causing panic to deepen, which reduces the chances to find the wallet, which induces more panic until, well...

By the time the search was called off, my dad was crawling around the lawn, I was headfirst inside the trunk of my Dodge, my mom was saying the Rosary in front of a life-sized statue of St. Anthony. No luck.

And years later, when the recliner was dismantled for taking out of the house and the wallet flopped out of its depths, the flashback aspect of Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome hit. I broke into a cold sweat and my dad started heading for the lawn.

It’s a terrible syndrome and it goes undiagnosed because no one wants to admit to panicking upon losing a wallet.

It’s easier, far easier, to think you were mugged, a co-worker is jagging you, the priest lifted it from the confessional because you’ve been light in your church support lately or aliens descended looking to steal your identity.

Because Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome is a bad, very bad thing. And as you get older, the chances of having other family members be reduced to crawling around on the lawn are lessened. They will laugh as you painic. You’re left on your own, slightly elevated heart rate and sweaty palms working against you as you plumb the depths of your automobile’s rug, hoping against all hope that your wallet really is there.

It’s usually on the nightstand or it fell out of your pants pocket where you laid them neatly folded in the bedroom, but once you’ve had Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome, you’re subject to repeated attacks, sometimes even when you’re not looking for your wallet.

Sometimes, it’s possible to have the panic even while holding your wallet in your right hand.

It’s a bear.

And it’s sad that research into this terrible mental disease, which lessens the quality of life of guys who get out of bed before their Boss and thus aren’t allowed to turn on the big overhead bedroom light to aid in finding their missing wallet,is being stymied by the government shutdown.

You jerks in D.C. don’t know what you’re doing to us early rising spouses who can’t find their wallet with only the light from a cell phone screen to guide the search.

I hope The Boss sues when I drop over from one of these episodes of Panic-Inducing Lost Wallet Syndrome, because surely a cure can be found, and surely like everything else, it’s the government’s fault.


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