By MARK GILCHRIST

Gentlemen, take your wallets out of your pants right now and empty them onto a table – ladies, out of the pocketbook. Ever wanted to see your life before you? There it is.

Photos of your loved ones, receipts for purchases, phone numbers and even a few dead presidents. Not to mention your entire financial lifeline right in that wallet, and so you know why when I lost my lifeline recently, I completely freaked out.

It was a truly embarrassing time as I made quite a scene and boy, am I glad I live alone so there were no witnesses.

What a mess. One minute everything is completely normal and the next, your world is turned upside down. One minute you’re a calm and sophisticated Cary Grant, and the next, you’re Gilbert Godfrey on a bender.

Ever been there? “Oh yeah, every morning,” a friend told me. Ha, but not quite like this. You have not been down the grief-stricken road I took, the road where the streetlights are all broken, the road known as Lost Wallet Boulevard.

Along the way, you’ll pass Denial Avenue, Anger Lane, Bargaining Street and that interstate known as Depression Highway before you finally reach the tree-lined and peaceful Acceptance Parkway.

I’m good at the denial part: “Of course I haven’t lost my wallet – it must be somewhere!”

Then anger and bargaining merge into the pitiful It’s Not Really My Fault excuses. For example, when are they going to put some kind of GPS thing in wallets? We can find ships hundreds of miles out to sea, and spacecraft halfway across the universe, so why can’t I find my stupid wallet!

I have a systematic way of searching for things because, you guessed it, I systematically lose things. First, I put my house on lockdown. Room by room I scan and scour every inch. I leave each room knowing that my quarry cannot possibly be there, and then I tackle the next room. If my house were the Middle East, I could find Bin Laden in under an hour.

The hours (and hours) I spend searching for things is not completely wasted, mind you. First, it’s pretty entertaining to watch a grown man regress to his infancy, crying out loud for his pacifier. Also, while searching, I usually find several other things that I have been looking for, for years.

Well, I searched my house that day and night with no luck, and yes, again the next morning... then I went outside. See, I had been working out in the brush in my backyard that day, wearing an old pair of work jeans that had a rip in the back pocket large enough to, well, let a wallet fall through.

I’ll pause right here to let the women stop laughing and catch their breath. “Typical male,” they say. “Why was he wearing...?” Yup. Hey, is it my fault that I don’t have a spouse to say; “You’re not wearing those, are you?”

Wow, that pitiful excuse has me circling back to Anger Lane via Denial Avenue.

I hear there’s an ongoing betting pool at my office each morning on trivial things like whether my hair will be combed, my socks matched, buttons missing, fly zipped...

But let me get back on point because, folks, there’s a whole other column right there.

So I searched my backyard, with no luck, and this is when it really got frustrating, because I realized then that I had no control over my situation, and I became frustrated as I sped up the onramp to Depression Highway. The last time I even saw this much frustration I was watching a handcuffed suspect trying to kick out the rear window of a police car, first with his feet and then with his head. That guy was frustrated, and at least I wasn’t bleeding.

No, wait. The last time I felt so powerless myself was when I caught that severe case of poison ivy last summer. (See “spouse” and “betting pool” above.)

Have you ever been where I was that day, wondering just when you’re going to grow up and stop making stupid mistakes? Have you ever been talking with someone about something really stupid that you have done in the past? Like some real blunder that only a young and immature person could have made, and after you regale your tale of woe, he asks you – thinking that you had been in your teens or something – he asks; “So, when did you do that?” And you say; “Last week.”

Then either the room erupts in laughter or it gets real quiet.

See, now there’s another column...

Well, this mishap ruined my whole weekend, as there are few things that will turn your world upside down like losing your wallet. Couldn’t go out to eat or shop – no cash, and no ATM card to get cash. I could have brought my checkbook with me, but then only to merchants who knew me, because, why? Because I had no ID, which put stress and anxiety into the driving experience.

Drive? Truck needs gas. Gas station needs cash. No cash. Need gas.

I rooted through my shed and found a five-gallon can of gas for my lawnmower – that’ll get me another 100 miles. I took what cash I’d found around the house, folded it and put it in my front pocket.

Think this is real funny? Go ahead, try it – try to spend even one day without your wallet. Feel my pain.

Above the pain and frustration and helplessness, I felt naked. Without that usual bulge in my hip pocket, I bet I even walked funny. Heck, for all intents and purposes, I was naked, a concept that could have brought new life to the office betting pool.

Okay, I know you’re dying to know where the stupid wallet went. When this happens (and it will happen to you someday, so wipe that smirk off your face,) you retrace your steps. Well, I had made a bank deposit that day, so maybe I left my wallet on the counter at the bank.

Great… What if someone took my wallet from the bank? Was somebody at this moment outfitting his new home theater with my credit history? Was Mark Gilchrist the new high-bidder on half of Ebay?

I called Pauline – who is brilliant – at First Citizens Bank. Just watch her work:

Me: “Hello Pauline, it’s Mark. I may have left my wallet on the counter where you fill out deposit slips...”

Pauline: “Again?”

Me: “Stop it, I’m serious. Can you check your videotapes?”

Pauline: “What time were you there?”

Me: “Well, the time is stamped on my deposit slip, which is in my wallet – ha, ha.”

Pauline: “You put the deposit slip in you wallet?”

Me: “Yes, of course.”

Pauline: “Then you didn’t leave your wallet on the counter, did you?”

Me: “Thanks Pauline. You’re brilliant.”

Retracing got even harder, as I had taken a trip about 30 miles away that day and at the end of those 30 miles had stepped out of my truck just long enough to lose my wallet, and the only way I could know if that’s where I lost my wallet was to drive all the stupid way back there, and back.

Dang.

Well, I drove all the way back there and I drove all the way back home and the frustration drove me crazy all the way. Yes, no wallet.

Along the way, I tried to make an inventory of what I had crammed in that cowhide, a list of what I had just lost: drivers license, registration, insurance cards, credit cards, library card... all of it would have to be replaced.

One of the worst feelings actually, was the uncertainty of not knowing exactly what I’d lost, because that’s where I really felt the greatest lack of control. So this is what I want you to do. Have you emptied your wallet on the table yet? Well, do it now, then photocopy or photograph everything. Put the copies – heck, I don’t know – give them to your spouse.

I’ll be waiting for that phone call, when you’ll say; “Mark, I just lost my wallet. Thanks, pal.”

I did get a rewarding feeling of living in a small town once that weekend when I went into Pierce & Co. in Hallsboro, where I have an account, and I just walked out of there with all the supplies I needed, paid for with nothing but my good name. Imagine, I could have walked in there completely naked and still have gotten all the supplies I needed. No questions asked!

Those who study the theory of the five stages of grief understand why, when I finally bought another wallet, I actually felt better, for I was approaching the Acceptance Parkway. I was also getting back to normal. I now had a place to put things. I had the bulge.

So where was my wallet? Well, I apparently didn’t search my backyard enough because that’s where I found it about a week later, after a heavy rain moved some brush that had covered it, the same heavy rain that drenched the wallet and everything inside.

Regressing once again, I laughed like a toddler watching Teletubbies. I threw my old jeans away, dried everything off and ever since, I’ve been right back on Careless Circle.