All Things at All Times

I stood in line at the post office, empty-handed, until my turn came.

“I was in here the other day,” I said to the clerk, “and I think I might have dropped my credit card.”

Without a word, he spun away and stepped to a cubby of slots against the back wall.

“It’s a red MasterCard,” I said. I gave him my full name and the bank’s name, plus the last four digits on the card.

He reached into one of the slots and pulled out a red MasterCard.

“I.D.?” he said.

I showed him my driver’s license. He studied it, looked up at me, then looked back at the license. Satisfied that I wasn’t a thief, he handed the card over.

“A regular found it on the floor and turned it in,” he said. “It’s good to know there are still some honest people in the world.”

It sure is. That honest post office customer solved a mystery for me. I’d looked for that blasted card for five days with no luck. I checked in the laundry, under the car seats, between the couch cushions, and on every cluttered surface in my house. I found nothing but dirt and dust and lots of clutter. I didn’t call the bank to report the card as lost—it wasn’t so much lost as misplaced. I knew it hadn’t fallen into criminal hands because my account showed no spending frenzy on pizza, clothes, cryptocurrency, or online gaming tokens. I knew it was somewhere in the wake of my boring errands, and I’d lost track of it for the usual reasons: not keeping it secure and not paying attention.

Then I thought about that post office trip earlier in the week. Did I have the card when I walked in? Yes. Did I have it when I walked out? No. I’d pulled my phone out of my pocket, and the card went with it. I didn’t feel anything drop. I didn’t hear anything hit the floor.

•••

Yes, I should’ve had the card in my wallet. But I’d stopped carrying the wallet. That old block of faded leather had become a catch-all, packing not just my driver’s license and credit card but also my insurance card, my AAA card, discount cards for three supermarkets and two pharmacies and one auto-parts store, a club card for a sandwich shop, a club card for another sandwich shop that went out of business years ago, restaurant receipts, and the occasional dollar bill. Even after I reorganized, the wallet still had so much in it that I couldn’t find anything because of everything else.

Besides, the wallet gave me a sore rump from sitting on it, and it made my pants sag. And for what – just a few seconds’ use of one card? I started taking the credit card out and slipping it into a front pocket. It was easy. And my pants stayed up.

It was also risky, as I soon found out.

Months before the post office incident, something similar had happened. I was buying groceries, and when I got to the register I didn’t have that red MasterCard. I retraced my steps and found it lying in the parking lot.

Twice, I’d been lucky to get the credit card back. Countless times, I’d been foolishly loosey goosey with the thing. Sooner or later, some scoundrel would find the card and go crazy buying booze and betting on football. Not all the people in the world are honest regulars at the post office.

•••

We carry too much stuff. Keys, cards, hand lotion, face lotion, tissues, breath mints, medicine, mouthwash, lip balm, hand sanitizer, nail clippers, chewing gum, eye drops, disinfecting wipes, reading glasses, sunglasses, cleaning cloths for the glasses—all of these go with us everywhere every day. Cosmetics. Protein bars. Pepper spray. Some people never go anywhere without their tweezers, their crossword puzzles, and their travel toothbrush. After dark, I always have a good flashlight in my pocket. And, of course, we must bring along a phone, that clunky chunk of glass and plastic. (Don’t forget the charger!)

It’s as if we’re following those lists of the “essential survival gear” we’ll need in case an asteroid hits the planet and wipes out all humanity except us. To be safe, fully prepared for the unexpected, we load ourselves up, keeping all things with us at all times. This means carrying yet another thing: something to put all our things in. People trudge around with backpacks, messenger bags, duffels, satchels, totes, and purses as large as luggage. Some even wear fanny packs.

Instead of lightening our loads, we make them heavier. No wonder we have back pain. No wonder we look overburdened. In addition to our worries and doubts, we’re hauling sunscreen, dental floss, and bottled water.

That’s the problem I was trying to solve for myself when I ditched my wallet and stuck the credit card into my front pocket. It made me feel freer, lighter, more mobile – you know, in case I ever needed to spring into superhero action while buying stamps or fiber supplements. But I was bound to drop the card eventually. If not for some honest people in the world, I’d have paid a steep price.

•••

I accepted reality and went back to using a wallet, but not in the old way. I gave up my leather back-pocket brick for something new and lightweight: a little rectangle of elastic sewn into two pouches, making just enough space to hold what I need and nothing else. It slips securely into my front pocket. It’s a minimalist improvement in these maximalist times. I can’t wait to use it at the post office.

Tim Bass is a retired creative writing teacher and journalist. He lives in Wilmington. Mark Weber is a Wilmington-based artist and illustrates WILMA’s monthly Direct Male essay. weberillustration.com

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