Item 1: Dirty Plate 

A school building, by and large, is a place devoid of reusable dishware, apart from the sort of portable containers and utensils succinctly represented by the triple-threat multi-tool seen here shying fearfully away from the stain. The boundary between home and school/work is blurred by this fish out of water, this at-risk disk stained with eggs briskly whisked. I appreciate it for this unhurtful service, this dutiful work making murky the surface, but I cannot convince myself that this is enough to justify the square footage it takes up on the increasingly crowded shelves of the Lost and Found. To anyone who comes across a lost water bottle in the time until this plate is claimed, I urge you to conserve shelf space by placing it on this plate—if you can stomach the speckles.

Item 2: “We Are In Seattle” Shirt  

What a cruel joke it is that has been played on the unfortunate sap who lost track of this garment, which is in mint condition, judging by the lettering: its pristine appearance indicates that the shirt itself has been equally unworn. On the campus of Lincoln High School, there is no object for which it is harder to ascertain ownership: even if you know you lost yours at school, out of 1600-plus students, who knows who else might have had your same misfortune? On the other hand, the concept of a Lost and Found has an honor-system basis—seen a different way, this is the easiest item to steal without anyone batting an eye. Just don’t wear it over your other “We Are In Seattle” shirt. 

Item 3: Candy Cane Umbrella  

I took this photo on the first of November. While I suppose the first of November is, strictly speaking, after Halloween, it nevertheless strikes me as ahead of schedule, bordering on preposterously premature, to lose Christmas-themed items at this point in the year. I was curious, seeing this umbrella, as to what the full text was, but finding out would have required opening an umbrella indoors, and I am not so bold as all that. Though my cowardice limits me, I can still observe the message “A Rap Rod,” which I consider a dangerous example of false advertising: someone who sees this may reasonably conclude that this is not in fact an umbrella but rather a simple rod, meant for rapping on things. Unknowable amounts of damage could be caused through the process of verifying this farcical claim. 

Item 4: Two Paper Cups  

As regular readers will recall, in the previous edition of this report, I expressed a measured amount of frustration at the addition of a disposable paper cup to the Lost and Found. Evidently, someone—perhaps the original paper cup misplacer—read this reasonable critique and decided to test my limits. Though my blood boils at such an affront, I have a reputation to uphold, and it will take more than this to get a rise out of me. Unshaken I remain, your tireless Lost and Found Reporter, even if further provocation ensues.