It happens to all of us at some point in time. That feeling of panic when you realize your wallet or purse is missing. It’s the same feeling a high school kid gets when his girlfriend tells him she’s pregnant. Its the same feeling you get when swimming in Australia, when a shark fin appears nearby and you are good distance away from shore. Perhaps this is a little much, just a touch melodramatic. I’m prone to such behaviour when set upon by a first-world problem. Life can be challenging and I like to whine about it, like the fair-weather soldier I am.
This afternoon started out like any other Saturday. Early to bed, late to rise. Around noon, it was time for my midday kickstart, courtesy of a popular downtown coffee house, which shall remain nameless. After hanging about the java stop with a friend, for an hour or so, talking about issues such as the Elliot Wave as applied to social mood, or whether or not barista was a relative of George Hamilton, based on her tan; I decided it was time to get back to things more productive.
The rest of the afternoon was spent writing. After a few hours, I decided I would be proactive and do my grocery shopping today rather than do it on Sunday, like your average, garden-variety, bachelor chump. As I readied myself, grabbing my car keys and doing a spot-breath check (why this matters, is because the grocery store is full of a whole cast of eligible or near-eligible ladies; the difference being virtually indistinguishable to me) and I suddenly realize my wallet is missing. To make a long story the length of my last relationship, my wallet was decidedly “incognito”.
Rather than bemoan purchases lost, I made the gut decision to cancel everything. Cards, driver’s license…you name it, I’m replacing it. This is of little import. What does matter is how to operate with what I like to call “secondary protocol accessories”. I call it secondary protocol because that is the only time most of this stuff sees the light of day. I don’t know about you, though I tend to misplace things. More often than not, they show back up. Unfortunately, I lose them often enough that I’ve chosen to keep my “back-ups” altogether, in one neat, tidy place.
The real challenge is using this stuff on a Saturday night. Most obviously, is my passport in lieu of a driver’s license. Instead of being embarrassed, I keep it slung around my neck, in the “nifty” little travel pouch that I bought to keep it safe “while travelling through Europe”.
This has a three-fold effect on the opposite sex. First, you are blissfully uncaring of the opinion of others, how else could you possibly walk around with a mini man-satchel, sitting in the center of your chest, like Ironman’s Arc Reactor? Second, you’ve been to Europe, which mean you’re all kinds of sophist-a-micated and what-not. This goes over very well. Lastly, you’ve lost all your I.D. and money, which shows your vulnerability and potential need of “a woman’s touch”, if only for a brief period. This will appeal to women who tend to get “Florence Nightingale Syndrome”. Careful with this one, as you may end up with a Kathy Bates type, hacking off your foot, just to keep you in close proximity.
A couple of key things to remember if you do venture out on Saturday with your back-ups:
1. Your keys.
2. Your phone.
3. Her name.
4. Not to leave the back-ups at her place.
5. Enough cash for cab fare, or it could potentially be an extremely long walk of shame. Unless you really like your new friend, in which case, save enough money for two “Lumberjack Slams” at Denny’s, on Sunday morning.
Lastly, remember not to judge yourself. After all, you’ve had a really tough weekend, having to deal with a boatload of personal loss. You deserve a little bit of time free from worry, free from stress. The real trick is to remember the word “Free”, as you’ll be without your plastic.
Have a tip-top weekend!