Lost and Found

a Saturday story

[Every Saturday I share a story from life. Sometimes the stories have a moral to them, and other Saturday stories are just stories. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy today’s story]

When I first touched down in the sprawling northeastern city for my maiden assignment as a trainer with BEE World, my spirits were high, and my sense of direction—well, let’s just say it had aspirations. I was supposed to meet my teaching partner at the Holiday Inn, but I arrived a day early, full of curiosity and the mistaken belief that I could navigate unfamiliar streets with nothing but my instincts.

I stepped out of the hotel, glanced to the left, then to the right, and made a fateful decision. "Right looks good," I thought. Confidence can be a wonderful thing—until it becomes your undoing.

Not far along, I stumbled upon a wide staircase teeming with people descending into what I assumed was a subway. Down I went, not to board a train, but just to look. What I found was not a station but an underground bazaar—a bustling street below the street, lined with vendors hawking everything from exotic fruits to questionable trinkets. It was marvelous, and I wandered along, soaking it in.

It was here my first error was made. I imagined I was walking parallel to the surface street I’d come from. The thought gave me a misplaced confidence in my internal compass, which, as it turns out, was about as reliable as a weathervane in a windstorm.

When I finally surfaced, I realized I had emerged onto an entirely different street. "No matter," I told myself, "I can find my way back." Armed with this unfounded optimism, I strode on, each step taking me farther from where I needed to be.

Soon, it became apparent that I was well and truly lost. Darkness began to creep in, clouds gathered overhead, and, as if on cue, the heavens opened. Now I was lost, wet, and feeling like an especially pitiful stray dog.

Then, like a beacon of hope, I saw it: a grand international hotel, the kind that caters to people who know where they are and can afford to stay that way. Its circle drive gleamed with black Mercedes sedans, and the manicured hedges whispered, "You don’t belong here."

But desperation trumps decorum. I sloshed up the drive, and the doorman, bless him, opened the door without recoiling. Inside, a young man in a sharp black suit approached me with a practiced smile. "May I help you?" he asked, though his eyes clearly said, "How on earth did you get in here?"

"I’m terribly sorry," I began, water pooling around my feet. "I’ve lost my way. I’m trying to get back to the Holiday Inn."

The young man didn’t miss a beat. He gestured to two young women who disappeared and returned moments later with towels and a cup of hot tea. "Let’s get you sorted," he said, leading me to a window. "You see that large building with the angled top?"

I nodded, clutching the tea like a lifeline.

"The Holiday Inn is right next to it. You’ll find your way there."

Then, as if I were some hapless dignitary, he insisted on calling a car. A sleek black sedan appeared, its driver as polite as he was bemused. I was whisked away, warm, dry, and utterly grateful.

The next day, my teaching partner arrived. "How did things go?" he asked.

"Just fine," I replied, “Just fine.”

busy street in a large asian country