11th
Briefcase Guy
I was walking into work the other day when I noticed a briefcase on the floor in the hallway. I meant to ignore it, but before I could start up the steps, it was nagging at me. I turned around and contemplated it.
I work at a small company that leases office space in a building whose other tenants seem to mostly be law firms, or one firm spread out over a few floors. It’s logical, then, to assume the briefcase belonged to a lawyer. But it was just sitting out in the hallway. The nearest office unit is behind a closed door with no windows. I looked around. Nobody.
Knowing it would just keep bothering me if I didn’t do something, I knocked on the nearest office door and entered. The woman at the nearest desk turned around and gave me her best “How can I help you… wow, a headband? Seriously?” face. Except I wasn’t wearing one. I think she just knew.
I explained the situation and asked if she thought it belonged to someone in her office. She seemed to agree with my logic and said she’d come out and get it. I led the way, opened the door and was bending over to pick it up when someone started yelling at me.
“HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
Still bent over the briefcase, I turned my face toward the yelling. Briefcase Guy in dress attire with a tie draped around his shoulders is power walking toward me, wiping his hands on his pants. “I just found this here and thought, well, I mean, no one-“
“Jeez, no! I left this here to go to the bathroom,” he says to the woman. He doesn’t look at me. Either thinks I don’t deserve an explanation or she was throwing her voice when I talked to him. He growled, “I have to get to Columbus,” then stormed off toward the exit.
Look. I know a small building in a corporate park in a Northeast Ohio suburb is an unlikely target for a bombing or whatever. But I’m excessively concerned and curious enough about the unexplained in general — if you add to the mystery in an unattended package in a peculiar location, you can bet I’m going to try do something about it.
In retrospect, I resent having stammered when I tried to explain myself to Briefcase Guy. I didn’t owe Briefcase Guy an explanation. He’s the one who left his briefcase sitting out in a hallway. I don’t care if you’re in Manhattan, Fairlawn or the Sahara Desert, you just don’t leave your shit unattended.
I realize now the best way to teach him this invaluable lesson would’ve been to just steal the thing. Maybe next time.
UPDATE: I passed Briefcase Guy in the hall at about the same time as I walked into work the next day. He didn’t say anything to or even look at me. Not a “Hey, sorry I was an ass about you trying to do me a favor yesterday,” or, “Oh, you really DO work here. Huh. I thought you were a misplaced street thug.” Nothing.
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