If you’re attuned to children’s literature, you’re probably familiar with this bear. His little red chapeau goes missing, and he wants it back. The story of loss and recovery unfolds in the marvelously illustrated I Want My Hat Back.
Coming home from Philadelphia, I discovered I’d lost my hat. I, too, wanted it back. Like the hapless bear, I asked gate agents, “Have you seen my hat?” And like the bear, I tried to be polite when they had not. I left phone messages with TSA’s lost-and-found line, filled out forms via the Web, and made calls to my aunt, who had just bought a hat that looked a lot like mine.
After a weekend of resigning myself to its loss and searching for a replacement at sites from the UK’s eBay, where I dropped out of the fray over a real silver fox hat very early in the process, to my hat’s manufacturer, to Lord & Taylor’s, where my aunt bought hers, I hadn’t settled on one. You see, I wanted my hat back.
Then, Monday, at the doctor’s office, I could see that a call from Philadelphia had come in while the nurse was busy with weighing me and trying to discern pulse, blood pressure, and related minutiae. As soon as decently possible, I began playing phone tag with the airport’s TSA office, and in the middle of the afternoon, an officer spoke the delightful words, “I think I have your hat.”
After some transactions with the local UPS shop, a box arrived …
and inside …
was my hat.
Thanks so much to the staff at TSA and UPS for a happy ending.