‘Who Steals Her Purse . . . ‘

I got robbed yesterday. But I guess I’m just lucky.

I was having lunch with my peer group. Her name is Jean Gonick, and she writes funny stories about women having lunch and other things.

The peer group and I were talking about the occupational hazards of our profession--insanity and too many lunches. Suddenly, a woman walked across the cafe toward a man who was reading a newspaper.

I felt a slight twinge of guilt for staring at the woman just because she was shabbily dressed and looked a little strung out. Then I realized that all eyes in the cafe were on her. She asked the man for something, and I heard him say, “Sorry, I’m not finished reading it yet.”

“Oh,” I said to Jean. “She’s just spare newspaper-ing him.”

Shortly after that, the woman and a companion left the restaurant. It was then that I noticed my purse was on the floor next to me. I checked inside. The wallet was there, but the money was gone. I’d been stung.

I started to feel angry, but then I realized they’d left my credit card and my driver’s license. That was awfully kind, I thought. An extra day at the Department of Motor Vehicles is as close to hell as anything I can imagine.

“How are you feeling?” Jean asked attentively.

“It could have been a lot worse,” I said like Cleopatra--the Queen of Denial. “They didn’t take my credit card. They left my driver’s license. I have my return subway ticket. And here’s the really touching part. They took about $40 and left me a dollar.”

These were certainly the finest, kindest, most considerate thieves on Earth.

“But wait a minute!” I said, somehow finding something negative in this awfully happy situation. “I think I just contributed to the growing crack menace.”

“Actually,” Jean allowed, “they looked pretty slow to me. I think they were heroin addicts.”

Good old-fashioned heroin addicts! People not given to the whims of fashion or trends. People you don’t read about in the news. Decent people just trying to support their habit and leave your credit cards alone. What incredible good fortune.

I informed the waiter that I had just been robbed. He shrugged his shoulders and took my credit card. I’m sure he also appreciated the thieves’ consideration of his need to be paid.

Even though I was lucky and had just had a terrific salad for $45, for some reason I was still feeling disoriented and a little angry. I went home and called a friend.

“You mean they didn’t take your credit card?” he asked incredulously. “They left your purse and your wallet? They even left you a dollar? You are really lucky.”

I called four other people, who repeated the same happy litany. I was beginning to feel like an incredible ingrate.

Tell me, Sammy, what kind of fool am I?

I thought of what Jean had said earlier when we got to the important question: Which one of us would write about this?

“You’ve got to write about it, Alice,” she said.

“What am I going to say? That I was a victim? That I tempted these wonderful people by not eating lunch with my purse padlocked to my neck? Sorry, I can’t go public as a sucker. It’s bad for my image.”

“Then say I was the victim,” she offered.

“But that would be wrong, Jean. That would be lying.”

“They call it fiction, Alice, and a lot of people commit it.”

Great. Now I was feeling bad about two things. First, I still wasn’t happy that I was robbed by the swell people. Secondly, I had no imagination.

That’s when the doorbell rang. It was the people who had robbed me. They weren’t actually heroin addicts. They were from a new TV show called “Can You Handle It?” Because I was such a good sport about the whole thing, in addition to getting back my $40 I was going to get . . . a new living room set!

Next week they’re going for my credit cards, and if I do well with that, I could win a week for two in Hawaii. Then, if I make it through armed robbery, I have a chance at the jackpot--a brand-new Corvette with leather headrests!

Just how lucky can a poor girl be?