tarkrai in tow. Gretchen had bunged up her good knee over the weekend and was moving relatively slowly with a cane, so she headed on through the turnstile while I recharged my transit card to get Smac and I in. When we got to the platform, Gretchen told us that she'd apparently dropped her wallet out of her open purse -- open, because she was going to put the transit card back in when she got to the top. Of course, the wallet was nowhere to be found.I stood on the platform, calling on my cellphone, busily canceling the credit cards that we had in common. It turns out this was a good thing, because -- as Smac intuited -- Gretchen hadn't dropped the wallet. It had been snatched out of the open purse as she came up the escalator. Her bank debit card (which I don't share) had been used for a charge of $2.16 that night at a Jewel supermarket.
Gretchen would feel less ironic about this if I hadn't advised Smac to put his wallet in his front pocket, since I remembered having been pickpocketed back in 1989 on the way home from Comiskey Park where we'd gone for my bachelor party.
At least this seems to be the only damage, other than the inconvenience.