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The Case of the Lost Austrian Passport

Several of the student custodial workers rushed into my office this morning. “Look!” they shouted, holding out a dark red passport from Republik Osterreich, “Do you know this guy?” I opened it. A 29 year old male with long “fluffy” hair stared back at me – Vladimir C. – no one I knew. But how did we have his passport? How was it here on the Fountainview Academy campus? How long had we had the passport? Where had it come from?

Apparently the custodial girls had been getting ready to send our leftover lost and found items to ADRA and started looking through a black messenger bag before getting rid of it. Inside were packs of gum, shampoo, dirty socks, an empty cigarette carton – and the passport. 

Jesus and the iPhone Zombie

I was with a friend the other day when I began telling her a really important update in my life. I'd finished the "punch-line" and was moving on to the this-is-going-to-change-all-my-future-plans stage when I noticed her eyes had turned to her iPhone. Was she just checking the time? Was she looking at the latest and greatest on Facebook? Had she just gotten an email? How much of her attention did I still hold? 90%? Should I keep talking? Was it worth it for how much she might be hearing? Maybe she was only at 70%. I let my train-of-thought trail off.

I love fireworks - the rush of the crowd, the excitement of the moment, the splendor of fire exploding in the sky! The last time I was at fireworks with friends, my friend was beside me busily snapping pictures. "These are fantastic!" She'd exclaim. I glanced over at her staring up into the sky through her tiny viewfinder that made the sky 1/50th of the live show I was viewing. All for what? Having hundreds of fireworks pictures that would get archived onto a hard-drive and never viewed again? For getting that fantastic, clear shot that she probably wouldn't even upload on facebook for her 800+ friends to enjoy?

Hand-Raising Humiliation

So I'm sitting in this meeting, let's just say it's a sort of important meeting with sort of important people, and leave it at that. I'm in charge of taking the minutes so I'm sitting there with my laptop, diligently typing the discussions when the temptation of facebook became too much. Naughtily I scroll down the newsfeed: a million pictures of a friend's baby at the park, a dog doing something funny, assorted statuses, and a too-close-up shot of someone's face. And then there was this one picture. It was a photo of a guy, but he was holding his hand in a really odd position in the picture.
Now before I finish this story I'll have to admit that I'm a little strange. I'm a hands-on kind of person. I have to try things myself to learn or figure them out. If someone says a word that I think sounds interesting or strange I sometimes say it quietly under my breath a time or two just to try out how it sounds. So I'm trying to figure out how his hand is in this position and without even realizing it, I attempt to place my hand in the same position, just to see how it was done. And then I notice a bit of a lull in the talking around the table in the middle of an earnest discussion. Glancing up I realize half the table is looking at me.