While in the drivethrough line at the Chickfil-A I kept time on the steering wheel to the music with my credit card.

Then suddenly the card went flying.

It wasn’t in my lap. Not on the other seat, or on the floorboards.

I felt between the seats.

Ew-w-w-w!

Crumbs.

Something sticky.

Then it was almost my time to pay, and my right hand couldn’t find a wetwipe.

I thought about using the emergency $100 bill in my purse, then managed to come up with a five and enough change to pay for my order.

I didn’t even take a bite of my sandwich before I drove into the mall’s empty parking lot.

When I pulled out a catch-all designed to keep stuff from falling through the seats I was sprayed with more bits of food, but no credit card.

I moved the seat forward to search under it, but couldn’t get out of the car since I was held prisoner by the steering wheel.

By the time I got out and opened the back door I was frantic.

I pulled out wads of sales receipts, french fries, pens, grocery lists, lottery tickets, Sonic mints, and many, many more french fries.

The health department would have condemned it on the spot, but I continued to dig when I found a wadded up $10 bill in a receipt. Then a crisp but crusty $5 bill in a “Get Gas” sticky note, and three $1 bills folded up together. There were several candy-coated quarters.

I gathered up the cash, found some dried up wet wipes and used water from one of many water bottles to clean my hands and nails.

Finally, I reached for my Dr Pepper.

There in the other cup holder was my credit card.

What a relief!

It also dawned on me that the $20 was the same amount I’d paid for the young lovers’ bill who were behind me at Braum’s a couple of weeks ago. I’d hoped they’d ordered ice cream cones, but their bill was about $18, so I gave the cashier two $10 bills.

Sure I was an old fool reliving my youth through that young couple, but thought I’d share this good karma story.

After I wrote this Sunday afternoon, I drove to Enid and went through the car wash. As soon as it was over I admired my clean windshield, then a crack in the middle of the windshield from top to bottom.

So much for my good karma, unless you want some and my repair shop’s phone number.