Hey, Zelda

Dear Diary:

I was on a crowded M104 bus going up Broadway on a Friday afternoon. Many of the riders, like me, were standing. Moving through the aisle was almost impossible.

From the front of the bus, a loud voice announced, “Someone lost a credit card.”

“It’s mine,” a woman at the back said.

We all put our hands over our heads as the card passed from one person to the next until it reached its rightful owner — except she wasn’t.

“Sorry,” the woman said. “It’s not mine.”

All hands went up again, and the card started its return trip to the front. When it reached me, I thought to check the name. I didn’t have my glasses handy, so I handed it to a traffic officer standing next to me.