So, apparently, one night or day (who knows?) somebody up and left their shoes at the Buccaneer. Interestingly enough, the shoes abandoned at the Bucc are Bucks, in classic taupe. The owner may have been drunk. Maybe he had flip flops on and was going to change into the Bucks. Maybe he was the one who brought the pillow in and left his bike helmet, too. Justin Fox Burks suggests that the pillow was for a drum set, but I like to imagine something far less logical.
All of this, of course, is mere speculation, gathered from the beery anthropology pit of the bar’s lost and found box, which in this case is a lost and found booth as well as a lost and found closet/office (“cloffice,” we are told).
Justin Fox Burks
Candice Corum at the Buccaneer in the “cloffice”
A couple weeks ago I lost my wallet, and then I found my wallet. Somewhere in between, I called the Blue Monkey where I had lunch and am told they don’t have it. Desperately, I described the wallet, as if mere adjectives will conjure it up. “Oh, honey,” the woman on the phone told me, “all we’ve got are sunglasses and car keys.” This made me laugh because I figured this was true of all lost and found boxes. So I decided to check.
And, yes indeed, there are a lot of glasses (the Bayou has the most stylish) and car keys. (We even had reports of cars “lost” at two places.) Somebody left meds at Alex’s (nothing fun, we checked) and yet another person left a full cosmetics bag. If you can’t find your phone charger or music stand, you might check Murphy’s.
Justin Fox Burks
Benny Carter at Murphy’s
But mostly, it’s clothes — an array of shirts and jackets and sweaters and scarves. There is a swell tie with whales on it at Alex’s. At the Buccaneer, beyond the shoes, we unearth sweaters and jackets and a sweet-looking scarf. At Murphy’s, there’s a cool vintage leather jacket, a North Face jacket, and tons of sweaters and shirts.
It was also at Murphy’s where we witness an amazing reunion. “That’s my umbrella,” a man says. But then he comes over to the pile of lost and found stuff and picks up the umbrella, looks it over, and decides, “That’s not mine.”
