WhiskyFest on Friday night was a big event at which I felt like a big lame-o. I saw nearly everyone I had seen on Wednesday night in one or more of the four bars I visited in which I lost my camera. I contacted all the bars asking if they'd seen it, and all said no. The word was out: Camper can't keep track of his stuff.
It was like riding the bus home at 9AM in last night's clothes. The walk of shame.
But perhaps my public humiliation and expressions of deep regret shifted some karma in my favor, because the next morning they found my camera at Elixir, three days after I lost it. Hooray!
I share this story with you now as a public service reminder: put your name on your camera so it can be returned to you when you leave it behind. That's the first thing I did when I got it back.