No Money Mo Problems

11 Oct

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You’re sitting in your car. Your power had been out for five days, due to a “clerical error,” so you have no food at your house. Well, you have soup and beans and toast and spaghetti and milk and cereal, but who wants any of that? You want fresh, leafy greens and frozen Brussel sprouts (for some odd reason). You reach into your bag and rummage around for your (brand new) wallet. You find a mangled heap of chargers, a receipt for gum, and a rogue coupon for Claritin D, which you’ll surely never use because when was the last time you did anything good for yourself?

Your heart starts to race as your hand frantically searches for that overstuffed square mass at the bottom of your bag. It must be in there somewhere. You never take your wallet out of your bag. You start removing the bag’s contents, one item at a time. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

You tip the bag over and make doubly sure you’re not missing anything. Could it be in the side pocket, with the ten mints you’ll never eat and the rogue key that’ll never open anything? Could it be in the pocket of your jean jacket? No, that’s stupid. What is this, the 1950s? “Oh yeah, let me just grab my comb and my boyfriend’s pin, while I’m at it.”

You begin to realize you’re not going to find your wallet – not in your bag, not in your lunchbox, not in your car. It’s gone. You start thinking of the implications of losing said wallet.

Your ID is gone. (Is that really such a bad thing? Your head kind of floated in that picture like an aimless house boat, and your youthful expression isn’t representative of the confident older woman you’ve become.) All of your credit cards are gone. (Why do you even have so many credit cards? How much is that travel perks credit card really doing for you? You’re eternally “so close, very close, just a few more purchases” away from getting a free snack on your next airplane ride. Is it even worth it?)

You can wrap your mind around the credit card losses because those can be cancelled and re-ordered. As can the ID. But let’s reflect on the fact that you – a person who never carries cash – happened to have cash in your wallet today. In fact, you happened to have a $100 bill in your wallet, because some posh friend of yours paid you for an Airbnb with a $100 bill, and you thought to yourself, “Wow, should I even deposit this? It’s so pretty. I kind of just want to wave it around and then keep it tucked in my bra for cocktail party conversations.” So, you neglected to deposit it, thinking you’d save it for a rainy day.

Well guess what, bitch? It doesn’t rain in Los Angeles, and now your posh $100 cocktail conversation piece is probably paying for some teenager’s thongs at Wet Seal. Still feeling posh?

And then there are the little things, like the $20 laundry card, or the key to get into your parking garage, or your Ralph’s discount card. Will you ever save 10 cents on six bottles of Josh again? Oh. Wait. You don’t have money. You can’t even buy one bottle of Josh. How will you get drunk after all of this is over?

As you continue to sit in your car, with the windows tightly shut, you start to feel dizzy. There’s so little oxygen. Everything’s kind of blurry. Where could you have left it? Then it dawns on you; you put it on the floor at lunch, next to your lunchbox…because that’s what you do with valuable things, apparently. You put them on the floor and trust yourself to remember them. Child? Floor. Laptop? Floor. The birthday letter you wrote to the Queen Mum when you were going through your “Queen Mum” phase? Floor. (Just kidding. That’s in a bullet-proof box.)

You should probably go home and start sorting this out. Maybe you’ll send a quick text message to your family texting chain, just to get everyone on the East Coast really worked up and unsettled before bedtime.

“Oh Jesus, Sophie,” says Mom.

“You need an ID to fly to Georgia this weekend,” says your sister.

“What’s #missing?” asks Dad.

“IDIOT,” says other sister.

You arrive at your parking garage and wait dependently for someone else to pull up, so you can free-load off of their garage card. Someone calls you a “bitch” while you’re blocking the entrance, and instead of getting out of the car and insulting her fake tan, you decide to just let it slide; after all, who are you to judge someone with an identity?

Back at home and in the worldly-casual Turkish relaxation pants you wear when you’re trying to look both worldly and relaxed, you go online to renew your license. The website prompts you for a credit card number, and you start cackling because guess what, Massachusetts DMV? YOUR GIRL DOESN’T HAVE A CREDIT CARD. DO YOU ACCEPT CLEAVAGE PHOTOS AS PAYMENT?

At this point, there is only one option: ask your roommate to open the brand new box of yoga equipment her mom sent her for her birthday, so you can lie on a stretch block and moan long, loud moans of grief.

The next day, after a sheepish drive to the office, armed with a printed out confirmation receipt of your new license purchase to serve as your temporary license, you get word from your boss that your wallet has been in the office the entire time. But you swear you checked! But you’ve never been wrong before! But you don’t have a tendency to miss things that are right in front of you, like moldy turkey or an STD-carrying floor hockey player! But you voted in the last election! But you always recycle! But you recently admitted to maybe not being 100-percent atheist!

None of it matters. For 12 hours, you were just floating. And now, you have your identity back.

So go ahead, buy six bottles of Josh. Just don’t put your ten-cent savings on the floor.

 

 

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