I left my wallet in el segundo

Ever since I had paper money of my own, I carried it in a wallet. I may have even had a wallet before I was trusted with paper currency. I may have owned one of those vinyl wallets that could be picked off a supermarket toy rack alongside a jacks set, a toy stethoscope or a bag of molded green plastic army men. Maybe my mom bought one of those wallets to pacify a particularly relentless episode of unruliness I was known to exhibit in my youth.

I was taught to carry a wallet by my father, who held the unofficial title of "King of the Wallets." He was never without that solid hunk of worn leather creating a tumor-like bulge in the posterior of his pants. When he withdrew it to pay a check or file some sort of appointment card, it looked as though he had pulled a melting piece of chocolate layer cake from his pocket. The edges of dollar bills were visible along the top, along with some unidentified pieces of paper that could either be a recently-acquired business card or a coupon from a store that he would never set foot in again. Other assorted and unidentifiable bits and pieces sprouted from its knurled, browned edges. My father's wallet was like the Eagles' Hotel California — once something entered, it could never leave. When I met my father-in-law, I saw that his overstuffed wallet was secured with a thick rubber band. I had to tell my father about that! He'd love it. 

When my father passed away in 1993, we were tasked with cleaning out his house in preparation of putting it up for sale. My wife discovered a dresser drawer packed with a dozen or so wallets, unused and still in their packages, waiting for their turn to serve my father in all of his money, credit card and assorted important papers needs. My father bought wallets like some people buy Kleenex.

My first wallets were probably purchased for me at Sears, Klein's, Korvette's or one of the other stores that my parents frequented. They were faux leather and accessorized with a little folio in which to insert photographs. (Yes, kids, before we had cellphones that could hold the equivalent of a lifetime of vacation photos, we had to choose eight pictures to carry around of those people who meant to the most to us.) I filled my wallet with a couple of one dollar bills, my very own, real live social security card (that I still carry to this day, still sporting the childlike scrawled signature of ten-year old Josh Pincus), as well as my membership card in the Archie Andrews' Fan Club and a school photograph of yours truly. 

As I got older, of course, my driver's license took the first, most prominent position in the folio, or the separate little window to keep the most important item sequestered from the rest of the wallet's contents. I remember the 80s trend towards cool and colorful nylon wallets, available in bright colors. I jumped on that bandwagon, proudly toting my cash and identification in a neon pink and lime green rip-stop number with an awesome Velcro closure. I think that was followed by a Mickey Mouse/Pirates of the Caribbean wallet that I bought in Walt Disney World. As an adult, I wasn't the least bit embarrassed to wield that cartoon-emblazoned billfold in a public situation.

Switching wallets was always quite the undertaking. When I determined that my threadbare wallet was ready for replacement. I would empty its contents completely and weed through what was really important enough to warrant a transfer to a new leather home. receipts from out-of-business stores were the first to go. Followed closely by phone numbers with no notation as to who they would reach when dialed and business cards of people I don't' remember even meeting. My new wallet would be slightly — just slightly — thinner and lighter than the one that was just retired. However, it would soon be indistinguishable from its predecessor.

Just recently, I noticed it was time for a new wallet. The stitching along the edge of my current wallet was beginning to show the results of years of being sat on, dropped, opened and closed and opened and closed, as well as the stress of never-used credit cards and supermarket discount club cards pushing against its ancient seams. I searched online and was intrigued by several slim-line wallets I saw at one particular website. The money compartment was flanked on both sides by a few cantilever slots for cards. It was touted as being a mere .45" thick when filled. Plus, it features RFID blocking technology. I don't know what that is and I don't know how it will benefit me, but I'm pretty sure that all of my previous wallets would let RFID run rampant through my precious belongings. So, after a few clicks on this website, a brand new "Buffway Slim Minimalist Front Pocket RFID Blocking Leather Wallets for Men and Women" was on its way to me. 

In a few days, I found myself emptying another wallet and assessing the importance of its contents. While I have several credit cards, I use just one almost exclusively. I still have a twenty dollar bill and three singles that have been in my wallet for almost three years. I have two insurance identification cards and.... well.... that's about it. All my pictures are on my phone, along with any important phone numbers and other contact information. So, my new "Buffway Slim Minimalist Front Pocket RFID Blocking Leather Wallets for Men and Women" is considerably smaller, thinner and lighter than any wallet I have ever owned. Although I am pleased for taking the brave step towards severing any beholdeness to a wallet, I find myself constantly checking to see if my wallet is still in my pocket.

But it sure beats sitting on a misshapen petrified blob for eight hours.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com